


Lux in Tenebris

by NyxNuit



Series: Luceat Lux Vestra [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Badass Katsuki Yuuri, Badass Victor Nikiforov, Featuring my terrible attempts at humor, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, How Do I Tag, I watch too much Criminal Minds, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Please Forgive me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yuri is smol and angry, basically a demon hunter AU, gratuitous music references, victor is extra af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxNuit/pseuds/NyxNuit
Summary: “You’re trying to get Katsuki on as a consultant,” Mila said, “Victor, you haven’t even read his file.”“I don’t need to,” Victor rebutted.“Um, yes. You kinda do,” Mila replied, and held up a razor thin tablet and gave it a wiggle before shoving it at him, “Youthinkyou don’t need to, but it definitely would’ve helped you make your case better than ‘I talked to this dude for a couple hours and his ass makes me think he’d be legit’.”“You haven’t seen his ass,” Victor mumbled.When Victor and his team of Exorcists are assigned to hunt down the demon responsible for a series of disturbing murders, it becomes quite clear that they'll need a little extra help. Victor recruits the titillating former Special Agent Yuuri Katsuki to do just that.





	1. I Should've Stayed in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Soo...this is my first fic for YoI. It's been a while since I've been in the writing game. I dunno how well this is gonna go. I'll not waste anymore of your time and let you get on with it. I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Soo...this is my first fic for 'Yuuri on Ice!!!'. It's been a hot minute since I've done the whole posting thing so let's see how this goes, eh? I hope you enjoy!

_March 2019; St. Petersburg_

_“WHO YOU GONNA CALL? GHOSTBUSTERS!_ ”

Victor groans and rolls over, disturbing his furry companion who huffs and promptly sticks a hind leg into his kidney, eliciting a low annoyed grunt. The old theme song persists on loop until Victor twists to grab the phone from his bedside table. Honestly, the ringtone stopped being funny years ago but every time he resolves to change it he forgets.

“This couldn’t wait until morning?” he asks in lieu of a proper greeting.

“It _is_ morning,” Yakov reminds him gruffly, “I’ll see you in ten.” He hangs up. Victor squints at his phone – even on the lowest brightness possible it still makes his eyes hurt after so many hours of uninterrupted darkness. It’s almost five ‘o clock in the morning, his black-out curtains are still drawn, and he’s _so_ not in the mood for this. He drops the phone on his nightstand and lays in bed – partially out of spite – wishing he could just sleep the day away and staring into the darkness of his bedroom. Beside him, Makkachin continues to sleep peacefully.

After laying there for what feels like far too long (but not long enough) he hauls himself out of bed, padding over to the window to tug open the curtains and let some of the early morning sunshine in before going about his routine. He lingers in the shower for several minutes too long, takes his time brushing his teeth, and makes the most painstakingly perfect cup of coffee after tugging on his clothes. Yakov said he’d see him in ten, but Victor makes it forty, strolling into briefing with his polka-dotted thermos. The look of annoyed disapproval on Yakov’s face makes him smile inside and he pulls out a chair at the table to take a seat. He’s not surprised to see that Mila and Georgi are already there, but he _is_ surprised to see Yuri.

The young Warlock is technically an intern – too young to officially join the Agency and therefore not qualified to be sitting in on this meeting. It’s obvious that he was dragged out of bed like the rest of them to be here based on his slightly rumpled clothing and the obvious tangle on the back of his head that he missed with his hairbrush. Victor makes a mental note to ask Yakov about why Yuri’s here. “Nice of you to finally fucking show up, baldy,” Yuri grumbles.

“Now now, Yuri,” Victor chides cheerfully, “We talked about the name-calling.”

“Go suck a – “Yuri starts.

“Now that you’re here,” Yakov loudly interrupts, getting everyone’s attention before he loses control of the meeting entirely, “we can get started.” He sets down copies of the case files in front of them and clicks the remote in his hand.

He directs their attention to the screens behind him, one of them displays a map of Europe marked with four red dots in the cities where the murders have taken place and each dot is dated. On the second are profile photos of the victims taken when they were all very much alive and well, and next to each of them is a date and estimated time of death.

“Less than fourteen hours ago, the Milan Sub-quarter acquired evidence that a serial killer responsible for the deaths of four witches might be a demon,” Yakov said.

“And it took these jackasses four bodies to realize this?” Yuri scoffed. For once, Victor found himself agreeing with Yuri (quietly of course).

“The pattern of violence has remained consistent,” Yakov said, “and follows a ritual-like pattern, more consistent with something we’d find in a regular serial killer, not a demon.” The three veterans at the table exchange a grim look.  

“So, what changed? The tell must have been drastic,” Mila asked. Yakov changes the second display wordlessly to a photo taken at the most recent crime scene, the camera focused on scorch marks around a door. Victor narrows his eyes, chills causing goosebumps to rise along his spine and down the sensitive skin of his arms. Mila murmurs, “The last victim must’ve put up one hell of a fight.”

“Each victim was found relatively quickly, which has made us lucky enough to both establish a pattern identify each victim without decomp preventing us from doing so. The victims are all confirmed witches,” Yakov changes the second display again to a photo of the first crime scene, “Rosita Nuñez, sixty-three-years-old, was found in Andalucía nearly three and a half months ago. The victims following her have all been killed the same way.”  

Georgi murmurs a quiet prayer when he sees the picture of Rosita.

She’s been laid out like a sacrifice on top of a magic circle burned into the wood flooring of her home. The configuration is foul and hard to look at without feeling nauseous, and the poor woman’s chest was opened up. There’s nothing there but a gaping dark red hole where her heart used to be and a few fragments of bone.

“Holy shit,” Yuri blurts, horror written all over his pale young face. Victor and Mila look and listen in grim silence. It makes sense why the NPs thought this was a dime-a-dozen serial killer bouncing around Europe what with the ritual-like pattern of violence. But those scorch marks are unmistakable.

“Has anyone from the department confirmed demonic involvement?” Viktor asked.

“Not yet,” Yakov answers.

“Then I guess we better get moving then,” Victor says brightly, “Can’t take on the case until that’s been done.”

“Now hold on a minute, Victor- “Yakov begins.

“The sooner we do it, the sooner we can move forward, da?” Viktor railroads with his patented press-conference smile. His Unit members – and Yuri – push away from the briefing table and Yakov grumbles, recognizing that there was no stopping him.

“You’re taking Yuri with you to the crime scene,” Yakov growls, jabbing a finger in Victor’s direction, “and stick to protocol.” the ‘or else’ is obviously implied. Victor considers protesting – Yuri isn’t an official member of the Agency let alone their department, and then there’s his age along with his lack of experience in the field, but it’s too early in the morning to be dealing with a serial killing demon and as much as he loves to argue with Yakov, it’s rather obvious that neither of them are in the mood. Oh well, if he wants to endorse scarring the teenager for life then by all means.  

“’Kay,” Viktor mutters, ignoring the look of surprised triumph on little Yuri’s face and the look of deadpan exasperation on Yakov’s.

“I guess Georgi and I will wait here for the go/no-go,” Mila sighs, “Take care of our little kitten, Viktor.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, hag,” Yuri hisses, his vitriol making them all exchange fond looks.

“Well then come along, kitten!” Victor calls brightly, leaving the briefing room, “Milan awaits!”

Behind him Yuri curses and hurries to catch up, muttering obscenities about geezers and their ‘fucking long-ass legs’ and continues to grumble even while Victor prepares their transportation. As it happens, his Portal deposits them squarely in the lobby of the Milan Sub-quarter, which is remarkably quiet compared to the seemingly endless hustle and bustle of European Branch HQ.

The receptionist blinks at them from his desk, “Can I help you two gentlemen?” he asks in accented English.

“We’re from HUNTER,” Victor replies, “We’re here to follow up on a claim of demonic activity.”

They’re directed to the desk of Michele Crispino – which is currently occupied by a stack of worn files, old paper cups, a mug full of pens . . . and nothing else.  

“Great. Now what?” Yuri huffed.

“Can I help you?” they turn to address an exhausted looking Exorcist in rumpled civilian clothes with a large mug of very strong-smelling coffee. His violet eyes linger on Yuri’s ostentatious tiger print shirt in a look just long enough to be obviously judgmental before he looks at Viktor.

“We’re from HUNTER,” Yuri announces this time, beating Victor to it – and managing to sound much much ruder. Michele’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline.

“Really? That was fast,” he mutters and extends his hand to shake theirs, “We weren’t expecting you so soon. Michele Crispino, I’m the current primary on this case. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Victor Nikiforov. This is my associate Yuri Plisetsky,” Victor gestures aside to Yuri though he’s already made quite the impression with his fashion choices, “Claims like this have to be dealt with fast. We can’t proceed with the case until demonic involvement has been confirmed.”

“Gotcha,” Michele murmured, taking a long gulp of his coffee and sets his mug down on his desk next to the large pile of paperwork sitting next to his keyboard, “Guess we better not waste any more time then, mm?”

He takes them to the crime scene via Transportation Circle, which turns out to be an apartment in a small complex not too far from the local college. It’s on the second floor and there’s bright orange caution tape drawn over the entrance in an ‘X’. There’re a few tins of cat food lying around the base of the stairs that have obviously been put out for the strays and the distinct smell of old stale cigarettes.

“What the fuck?” Yuri breathes when he sees the scorch marks that have warped the doorway and gouged furrows in the concrete surrounding it. Victor’s been practicing magic long enough to deduce what happened and his eyes narrow. He reaches out to touch one of the scorch marks, eliciting an alarmed shout from his young companion and the detective. “What the fuck?” Yuri repeats, “Victor don’t touch that!”

His concern isn’t misplaced. Because there absolutely was a demon here and Victor can _feel_ its lingering presence – its energy and malicious intent – burning his fingertips. Victor withdraws his hand, shaking off the pain and narrows his eyes at the doorway. “Are we allowed inside?” he asks Michele, pointedly ignoring the outraged look Yuri is giving him.

“Are you stupid?” Yuri demands – in Russian –, as usual not recognizing that there’s a better time and place for these things, “Because what you just did was stupid.”

“We talked about the name-calling, Yura,” Victor counters patiently and Michele wordlessly opens the door to let them into the apartment. The crime scene has already been cased by CSI and screened for potential DNA evidence, but there’s still dried blood on the walls and soaked deep into the cheap carpeting. That configuration from the photos is still there and if looking at it in a photo makes him cringe than seeing it in person makes his insides _curdle_. Yuri’s grumbling becomes background noise as Viktor lets his eyes take it all in.

The scorch marks on the outside of the doorway are somewhat mimicked on the inside; the paint has curled, revealing powdery drywall underneath and the deadbolt on the door has long-since melted and then cooled into a metallic lump near the bottom of the door jamb.  

 _An awful lot of power to break through a barrier_ , Viktor muses, _Rinaldo must’ve been a gifted witch. Or he got a Warlock to set up protection for him_.

A witch that could put up barriers would be a rare commodity. Maybe the other victims had the same talent that this particular monster was looking for?

So many questions. So many theories. And (as per usual) there aren’t that many answers. He’s seen a lot since he became an Exorcist, and it’s gotten to the point where he’s hardly surprised anymore. But this? This is all new. A demon acting like a ritualistic serial killer is a novelty.

It’s absolutely thrilling.

It’s absolutely _horrifying_.

 _We can’t make any mistakes with this one_ , Victor narrowed his eyes at the dark brown stain where the young man had had his heart carved out of his chest.

Victor pulls out his phone to send a quick text.

“We’ve tried cleaning up the circle,” Michele sighed, scrubbing his fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, “it’s proved to be a challenge since nobody even wants to look at it.”

“Have any of the others been successfully cleaned up?” Victor asked after putting his phone away, his foot dancing near the outer edge of the circle. He notices that Yuri keeps a good distance between himself and the ugliness burned into the floor; no doubt he can’t keep his gaze on it either. Viktor _forces_ himself to look, to take in the horrible symbols in a language that even _looks_ dark.

“Only by ripping up the flooring,” Michele grouses, “And I mean _all_ of it.”

“Down to the foundation?” Yuri asks.

“ _All_ of it,” Michele repeats, “I’ll pull the reports from the Andalucía Sub-quarter so you can see for yourself.”

“We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us,” Victor ponders. Michele gives him a long look at that.

“You’re taking the case then,” it’s not really a question, Victor hears that. There’s a fair bit of tension in his voice and rightfully so. He wasn’t exactly expecting him to break out in jazz hands at the knowledge that a demon had been in this city.

“Oh joy,” Yuri deadpans.

**~ T ~**

Mila is in the Sub-quarter lobby with a drink carrier, chatting up a violet-eyed girl wearing black scrubs.

“Ah Viktor,” Mila greets them, “I see you haven’t managed to lose our kitten.” Yuri gives her a venomous look that earns a chuckle, “I brought you guys coffee.”

“Milochka, you are a diamond,” Viktor enthuses, taking his venti caramel macchiato from her and taking a long sip (Yuri conveys his thanks by keeping his grumbling to a minimum while slurping on his iced white chocolate mocha with extra chocolate drizzle), garnering a quiet giggle from the girl in scrubs. “I’m sorry, we’re being rude,” Victor apologizes, “Victor Nikiforov.”

“Sara Crispino,” she takes the hand he offers and gives it a firm shake, “Nice to meet you. And you’ve already met my brother.” Her sibling looks away from where he had been glowering at their temporarily joined hands. She extends her hand to Yuri who – despite all his teenage angst and vitriol, remembers that he actually has _some_ manners – takes it and introduces himself. “We weren’t expecting you so soon. The department told us it could be a week before we got someone out here,” Sara comments blithely, looking between the three of them, “Bureaucracy you know? But we’re glad you got here so fast.”

“I wouldn’t start celebrating just yet,” Mila half-jokes before looking at Victor, “confirmed reports of a demon in an area are never good news.”

“Understatement,” Michele mutters, “I’ll get started on my share of the paperwork. If you need me to pull anything for you, let me know.” The young Exorcist disappears through the door labeled ‘Homicide’, presumably to return to his desk, do his paperwork, and drink more coffee.

“My brother isn’t very sociable,” Sara apologizes.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Yuri deadpanned.  

“I was telling Mila that I’m an ME for the Sub-quarter,” she says, “If you’re taking on the investigation, I’d be happy to share what I know so far. My report for Rinaldo’s body wasn’t complete when they had the briefing sent to HQ.”

“Sounds good,” Victor told her.

“At least let me finish my coffee first,” Yuri grouses.

Sara’s lab is clean, ripe with the smell of antiseptic. If he weren’t used to the cold he’d probably shiver in the low temperatures that the lab is kept in in order to preserve the bodies and prevent further decomposition. There are several wheeled tables neatly lined up but none of them are currently in use. There are monitors, lamps that are no doubt used to better illuminate the body for examination, and an array of tools that Victor couldn’t hope to name even after years of friendship with Georgi. Even with modernization in magic, the mundane way of analyzing bodies is still one of the most reliable.

At the back of the lab is a chrome grid of what look like drawers, and Sara presses on a door in the second to last row – at waist level – and it opens with a low pneumatic hiss. There’s a blast of even colder air and the body comes sliding out on a moving slab.

“I’m sure you know who this guy is,” Sara begins, “Rinaldo Albini, twenty-six years young, and a witch with an as of yet unknown delineation.” Viktor frowned at that.

“His magic type wasn’t identified in the autopsy?” he asks, and Sara shakes her head.

“Like the others, his magic was completely drained. Post-mortem,” she answers.

“Post?” Mila repeats, “Not pre?”

“Definitely,” Sara nods, “There were no physical signs of magic drain on the body – no bruising, burns, or other marks. He was definitely already dead when it drained him. I can also tell you that he died pretty quickly, which is a good thing considering C.O.D. was having his heart forcibly removed.”  

Mila clicks her tongue, “Poor kid,” she murmurs, “Has his family already been informed?”

“Yeah,” Sara sighed, rolling his body back into the cubby and the door closes with a pneumatic hiss, “I can’t imagine they took the news very well.”

“Oh gee, I wonder why,” Yuri deadpanned.

Yakov chooses that moment to call, his obnoxious ringtone disturbing the somber quiet of Sara’s lab and Yuri turns slowly to give him an annoyed look as he lets the Ghostbuster’s theme play through.

“Um, shouldn’t you answer that?” Sara asks slowly.

“I should,” Victor agrees with a smile. Yuri’s eye twitches. The phone goes silent after ringing through for a good minute or two and then starts over again.

“I suppose that’s our cue to leave,” Victor announces pleasantly.

“Shame,” Mila mutters, “I was starting to rather enjoy it here. You know, aside from the whole ‘visiting corpses’ thing.”

“Either turn it off or answer it before I set your balding ass on fire,” Yuri growls when the theme starts again the third time.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Sara,” Victor shakes the young analyst’s hand, pointedly ignoring both Yuri and his still-ringing phone, “Tell your brother his help was much appreciated. We’ll take it from here.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” Sara replies, shaking Mila’s hand as well, “Um, take care and good luck.”

Victor finally answers his phone when they leave the lab, “Da?” 

“Nice of you to _finally_ answer your phone, Vitya,” Yakov said, clearly annoyed, “You and Yuri were expected back ages ago-”

“Yes yes, we’ll see you soon,” Victor railroads with palpable sarcastic cheer, “Bye bye now!”

“Viktor-!” Victor hangs up and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Anybody hungry?” he asked.

“Only if you’re buying, old man,” Yuri answers.

“I’m down,” Mila agrees and smirks when Yuri gives her a scandalized frown.

While it would be more prudent to take them back to European Branch HQ to fill out the confirmation report, so it can be processed, and they can get on with investigating a murder, Victor thinks it is also prudent to feed their resident angry intern the most important meal of the day. Also, he’s long overdue a decent meal. His Portal deposits them in downtown St. Petersburg, near a little restaurant that’s an agreed upon favorite and Yuri proceeds to order a stack of American-style pancakes with bacon and fried eggs. Mila sticks to her usual light pastry and hot tea. Victor orders a full English and gets the usual headshake from his tablemates. Georgi rushes in when the waitress walks away and pulls out the only empty chair at the table.

“No breakfast date with Anya?” Mila asks curiously and Yuri scowls at her when she mentions Georgi’s crush.

“Alas, it’s her day off,” he sighs with a pout, and begins to visibly sulk.

“If _any_ Shakespeare comes out of your mouth in the next sixty minutes, I swear on the Goddess I _will_ punch you in the face,” Yuri hisses, “Repeatedly.” Georgi sinks a little lower in his chair at that, sulking even harder now that he can’t wax poetic about the girl from HR who’s snagged his attention.

“Aw, Yuri,” Mila teases, “Did you have to be so mean?”

“I have the right to have breakfast unsullied by shitty Elizabethan playwrights!” Yuri declares.

Victor buries his laughter in the iced coffee he’s ordered when Georgi chimes in to defend the Father of Elizabethan Dick Jokes. The argument is quelled somewhat when the pancakes arrive, but Yuri continues to grumble responses around mouthfuls of breakfast to Mila’s blithe quips, but Victor would happily attest that breakfast still ended on a good note.

Yakov – predictably – is waiting for them with a scowl on his face (mostly directed at Victor) when they arrive back at European Branch Headquarters, “If you’re all quite done fooling around, we have work to do. I expect it to be _done_.” He rounds on Victor for the last part of his spiel, “As for you, I expect that confirmation report to be filed within the hour. _One hour_ , Victor, do you understand?”

“I _do_ speak Russian, Yakov,” Victor smiles and Yakov’s eye twitches, “I’ll have it done.”

“One hour!” he repeats, prowling back across the floor to his office.

“Well that went better than expected,” Mila said with a chuckle, shedding her coat and slinking off to her desk lest Yakov reappear and shout at them until he worked himself into a fit. Victor makes to do the same, the confirmation report really needs to be done, but Yuri grabs him by the elbow.

“Hey, baldy,” he snaps, “I need to talk to you.”

“Yura, there’s a time and place for these things,” Victor sighed, “and I thought we talked about the name-calling.”

“We both know that report can be done in fifteen minutes tops,” Yuri said, then lowered his voice, “You’re an _idiot_ for physically touching demonic marks.”

“Aw, Yuri, you do care,” Victor sang and watched the younger Warlock’s face twist into a snarl, and for a brief second Victor swears he can smell ozone. “I am a professional, Yura, I’ve – how do the Americans say? – been around the block a few times,” he says, “The marks weren’t fresh. If they had, I’d be in trouble. But, if it will make you feel better I will pay a visit to the Medical Ward, da?”

“Do what you want,” Yuri grumbles, “I’m not your mother.”

Victor goes back to his desk and actually does what Yakov told him to do (but only out of necessity!) and, like Yuri said, it really doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to draft the whole thing and give it a quick read-through before submitting it. He hates doing paperwork, but since he was the one who went to Milan to see the evidence, well . . .

He suppresses a sigh, staring at the monitor and wishes that he’d been allowed an extra hour or two in bed or at least some extra time with his dog that morning. Makkachin was a good boy, used to Victor keeping crazy hours but that didn’t mean Victor didn’t feel bad about neglecting his dog. He glances at the time and knows it’ll be an hour before the confirmation report goes through the brass and they can start pulling files and requesting bodies be sent over for proper analysis.

Just like that, his mind is made up and he pushes away from his desk then grabs his coat.

“Stepping out?” Georgi asks.

“I’ll be back,” he confirms.

Yuri gives him a dirty look from the desk he’s commandeered halfway across their shared space to which Victor gives him a smile before opening a Portal to take him back to his apartment.

Makkachin is ecstatic that Victor’s home after being left alone all morning, stretching up on his hind legs to shower Victor in slobbery kisses. “I missed you too,” Victor cooed giving him hugs and smooshing his fluffy fur, “You wanna go for a walk? Hm? Yes, who’s a good boy? You are! Yes, you are!” he chuckles when Makkachin’s tail starts to wag even faster, his whole-body wiggling with the force of his happiness.

He knows he has to keep the walk short because he has to be back at Headquarters to start fielding theories and combing through evidence to see if they can pin down where their target will strike next. He shakes his head and turns his attention back to his dog happily trotting alongside him. The case is shaping up to an absolute bitch and they haven’t even gotten to the good parts yet.

The Neva River isn’t too far off, he can practically smell it and soon it’ll be time to take Makkachin home, so he can go back to the office. “I’m not ready to go,” he tells Makkachin when they stop at the river and the poodle stops panting for a second to tilt his head, “You?” he asks. Makkachin wags his tail and Viktor reluctantly turns them back towards home with a sigh.


	2. Oh No . . . He's Hot

_March 2019; European Branch Headquarters – Geneva_

Victor looks up from his computer screen when Georgi enters the office smelling like latex-free gloves, stale coffee, and metal.

“Welcome back to the Land of the Living,” Mila cheers from her desk, spreading her arms wide in welcome. Yuri snorts at that.

“Coming from an undead person, it’s not a very warm welcome is it?” he mutters.

“Don’t make me come over there,” Mila threatens.

“Georgi,” Victor interrupts before they can actually start to bicker and make his headache worse, “have you confirmed magic types on any of the bodies we have in house?”

The ME takes a seat at his desk with a low sigh, “Rosita was a Ward witch,” Georgi nods, having run analysis himself just to be sure, “and so was Antoine. I’m running analysis on Rinaldo right now, and as for our mystery girl it’s hard to really confirm our Jane Doe when nobody’s come forward to claim her.” Victor sighs and rubs at his forehead. The teenage witch had been a bit of an outlier – her body had been discovered in a park, and the magic circle underneath her burned into the grass not even a foot away from the children’s playground where she’d been sleeping for the night. Her file could easily be described as tragic (“Abandoned and homeless,” Georgi had hiccupped through tears, “with no name or family. And now…oh, the poor _thing!_ ” he’d had to take a little break from the lab after that).

“I’m running her DNA through the Parisian databases,” Mila said, “if she wasn’t a part of the magical community, it might’ve been possible she was a ward of the city or a runaway. Would explain why she wasn’t found in a house like the others.”

“So, you think, all the victims had the same magical delineation?” Yuri directs his question at Victor.

“Oh, I’d put money on it,” Victor smiles, “There’s no connection between the victims otherwise. Their ages are all different, their looks, their ethnicity, nationality, even religion. Last thing to rule out would be their magic.”

“But _why_?” Yuri asks, obviously peeved, “It doesn’t fit the narrative. We’ve ruled out Imalir demons because they’re too low level and aggressive and shit to sustain ritualistic kill patterns, and higher-level demons don’t usually feed on humans because they’re sustained by their summoners.”

“Someone’s been doing their homework,” Mila comments.

“Shut it, hag,” Yuri growls, obviously unhappy that he’d been caught-out surrounded by books on Demonology in the Archives. Victor didn’t understand what he was so embarrassed about – he wasn’t expected to absorb absolutely everything by pure osmosis, to do so would be completely asinine.

“Speaking of Ward magic,” Mila starts, spinning her chair around to face Victor, “I looked, like you asked, and there are only six Ward witches on record with the Agency.”

“Only six?” Georgi asked around a mouthful of cheap pastry, “Ever?”

“Gross,” Yuri chastised, “Close your damn mouth. You’re getting crumbs everywhere, dumbass.”

“Ever,” Mila confirms.

“Four are currently active, one died in ‘05, and one is ROS,” Mila said, “Obviously, I called the ones that were active first to give them the heads up.”

“And the ROS?” Victor asked.

“Not answering his phone,” Mila sighed, “I tried twice, but went straight to voicemail. And the number’s current. I checked.”

“Looks like we found someone just as bad at answering their phone as you,” Georgi chuckled, looking at Viktor.

“But _why_  Ward magic?” Yuri blurts, green eyes narrowed at the air, “Why magical victims at all? None of this is making any fucking  _sense_ dammit.” He wasn’t wrong, but it was possible they’d have to look further into the magic type to understand why their killer was targeting specific magical practitioners. And the Archives hadn’t turned up anything useful regarding the magic circle that had been found at every crime scene so far. They’d cross-examined everything they could find on magical symbolism and runic languages to see if they could translate the foreign symbols carved into the floor.

The Heretic Case (the name stuck and honestly? Victor wasn’t mad at it) was turning up more questions than answers and it was only the second day of their official investigation. Right now, it felt like they were going in circles.

 _We’re_ missing _something_ , Victor swore.

“Well,” he said aloud, “I’m gonna go check and make sure our ROS isn’t dead. Is the address on file current?”

Mila swiveled her chair around to look at one of her monitors, “His primary address is in Tokyo.”

“Text it to me, please,” he asked, standing and grabbing his coat.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Mila calls after him and his phone chimes with a notification shortly after.

**~ T ~**

Victor can count the number of times he’s been to Tokyo on one hand, and only one of them had been for pleasure. He wonders if that faerie café in Akihabara is still there or if it eventually got shut down (which would be a shame because it would be hard to find a cappuccino of that caliber anywhere else).

The ROS – former Special Agent Yuuri Katsuki, according to Mila’s text – lives on a quiet street in Bunkyo. Google tells him that there’s a station not too far from here and a convenience store around the corner. It’s an older building, but still clean looking and there’s a solitary ancient security camera posted at the entrance.

He can feel something pass over his skin when he steps into the building’s proximity and he pauses just outside the door with a frown and concentrates. Yes. It’s a barrier. It’s been wrapped around the building, but it didn’t keep him out. He can’t sense the barrier’s anchor so either it’s been automated by a Warlock or the anchor isn’t here.

Getting into the building is still child’s play. The lock gives with some easy persuasion from his magic and he lets himself in. He has to take the stairs up to apartment 4H since the elevator is out of order. The floor is quiet, and he knocks on the door. There’s a moment of silence, and he waits a minute or two before knocking again, “Yuuri Katsuki? Are you there?”

He turns to look at the apartment behind him when he hears a low thump – like something being dropped. Another heavy thump – louder this time, closer – and then the door to apartment 4F swings open. Katsuki’s neighbor is young, perhaps a college student, and he has a hamster on his head.

“You’re looking for Yuuri?” he asks when he finishes chewing the food in his mouth.

“I was hoping to ask him a few questions,” Victor answered, “Do you know when he might be home or if there’s another way I can reach him?”

“You’re from the Agency,” the neighbor says suddenly, then looks a bit worried, “Is Yuuri in trouble?”

“No,” Victor assures him, “I just need to talk to him.” _And make sure he’s still alive_.

“Well, if you wait for him to come home you’ll probably be waiting forever. He practically lives at the university these days. And Hades knows he hardly ever answers his phone,” the neighbor rolls his eyes, a note of fond exasperation creeping into his voice, “Hold on a sec.” he turns back into his apartment, leaving the door wide open. The entryway is messy, and it looks like the noise from earlier was the neighbor tripping over a shoe. There’s a few umbrellas in a stand that’s been hand-painted with caricatures of hamsters. The neighbor’s reappearance is decidedly quieter, especially since he kicks aside the shoe that he tripped over earlier.

“Here,” he hands over a sticky note with an address on it, “he should be finishing up his office hours about now. And the campus is big, so grabbing a map might help.”

“Thank you,” Victor smiles, “I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” the neighbor replies.

Victor waits until he’s outside the building’s proximity and safely hidden on a side street before he opens a Portal.

“Faculty of Medicine Building 3,” he reads quietly, stepping out onto a concrete path and attempting to find his way by looking at the campus map he’s pulled up on his phone (thank God there’s an English option). He gets turned around a little when he tries to corroborate where he’s standing with the location of the building on the map because he can’t read Japanese and not all of the signs are in English. Victor admits defeat with the map and finds a helpful student to point the way (somehow, he ended up near the life sciences department?).

The building where Katsuki Yuuri’s office is located is a decent walk from where he ended up. It’s quiet inside, a good kind of quiet instead of the creepy kind that he frequently came to expect as an occupational hazard. He manages not to get lost inside the building on the way to Katsuki’s office and finds the door is closed. A glance at the time tells him that office hours are definitely over, and he squashes a rising swell of exasperation at himself for getting lost and wasting so much time in the first place. He raises his fist to knock anyway, hoping that the man is still inside his office and releases a relieved sigh when he hears a muffled “Hai?” come from inside.

The man sitting in the epicenter of absolute organized chaos is not the old codger that Viktor – for some ineffable reason – had pictured. _Retired On Standby_ wasn’t a status typically given to witches – their bodies aged not that much slower than a humans so when they retired they retired for good, so of course Katsuki Yuuri is not a bent old man with gray hair and a bowtie.

Katsuki Yuuri is _adorable_ – gorgeous even – and way too young to be a professor let alone _retired_ from the Agency. But, then again looks can be deceiving (he knew quite a few people whose physical age didn’t match their actual age). The part of his brain that’s not short-circuiting over how damn attractive this man is registers that Dr. Katsuki must be half-Warlock.

“Oh,” the professor says, quite bemused at the very obviously European man in his office, “you’re…not one of my students.” His English is flawless – obviously learned in America judging by the accent.

 _And you’re not an old man_ , Victor nearly says but his filter decides that it’s a good idea to stay intact, so he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of the cute professor (for which he is eternally grateful). “I’m Agent Victor Nikiforov,” he says instead ( _I’m a professional dammit. Get your shit together, Nikiforov and don’t spazz out in front of the cute boy!_ ), “I’m with HUNTER.”

Dr. Katsuki blinks at him again, though now there’s a frown, “You’re from the European Branch,” he says slowly, it’s not quite a question and not quite a statement either.

“We tried to give you a call,” Victor says, “but uh- “he stops when he sees the professor inexplicably turn three different colors in the span of sixty seconds – pale, then pink, and even pinker, and then suddenly he’s moving. A stack of exams is moved aside, and he finds his phone in the pile of paperwork that was _underneath_ the exams.

“Oh, my gods, was it important? I’m so _so_ sorry,” he says, getting more and more flustered while fishing out the long end of a phone charger, plugs it in, and waits for his phone to turn on, “I usually communicate by email, you see. I just lose track of this thing all the time and I know that’s not really an excuse and oh _hell_ – Mari-nee is gonna _kill_ me-“

“Um, Dr. Katsuki?” Victor asks, trying desperately not to smile because honestly this man is just too cute, “We just wanted to make sure you were still alive is all.” Any other agent would have said that a little more gently, but Victor’s filter decided to take an unprompted ten-minute break.

“. . . What?” Dr. Katsuki blurts, while his phone continues to ping with a continuous string of notifications.

Victor makes sure the office door is closed and that their conversation is shielded from unwelcome ears, “We’re currently investigating a series of murders. Ward witches have been turning up dead all over Europe, and we don’t know why.” If Yakov were here he’d kill him for sharing that last tidbit, since it’d be considered intel. Paranoid old coot. “Granted, it’s unlikely our target would make a huge jump to Asia after staying primarily in Europe for so long.” Dr. Katsuki nods, looking contemplative.

“This case,” he starts slowly, “it doesn’t sound like the target is following natural behavioral patterns. Mid-to-lower level demons are so rarely picky about what they eat.” Victor’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline (maybe he should’ve read Katsuki’s file before taking off? Though, being surprised is part of the fun). The professor gives himself a little shake, “Um, is that it?”

“Yes,” Victor stands back up, “that’s it. Give us a call if you suspect anything, da?”

“Of course,” Yuuri nods and stands, extending his hand, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Nikiforov.”

“Likewise, and just Victor will suffice,” he says, totally _not_ flirting because that would be inappropriate and definitely get him yelled at.

“Victor then,” Dr. Katsuki smiles and Victor’s insides are officially a melty gooey mess. He forces himself to let go of the professor’s hand and leave his office after telling himself it’ll be borderline creepy if he just stays there. Hell, not even borderline, it _will_ be creepy, and he’d kick his own ass before scaring his new favorite ROS.

He retraces his steps back to the courtyard and is about to go for a stroll in search of a discreet place to open a Portal when his brain reminds him that he had _questions_. His attempt at researching Ward magic to gain more insight into their target’s choice of prey was pretty much fruitless. This morning he’d spent hours giving himself a headache just staring at a digital scan of an ancient clay tablet with eroded carvings entirely in cuneiform. The translation hadn’t been very helpful, and he’d been trying to will the vague non-helpful descriptions into making sense while his brain began an endless mantra of ‘What the fuck?’. He abruptly turns on his heel to go back to the faculty building and narrowly avoids getting brained with the door when he gets there.

Fortunately, it’s Dr. Katsuki who’d nearly done the braining, which saves Victor the trouble of having to chase him down again, and he’s frantically apologizing in Japanese and English.

“Dr. Katsuki!” Victor says loudly to get the barrage of apologies to stop and to keep himself from laughing, “I’m fine. Honest. See? No harm done.” He gestures to his still-flawless face and the professor turns pink with embarrassment. Seriously, what even _is_ this man?

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asks quietly, cinnamon eyes big with concern behind his glasses.

“I’m perfect,” Victor chirps and Dr. Katsuki quietly sighs in relief, “If you still feel bad you can make it up to me by letting me pick your brain. Your craft is unique, and I wanted to understand it better.”

“Oh,” Dr. Katsuki blinks, “I was just about to go get a bite to eat. You can, um, pick my brain over lunch if you’d like?”

“Wonderful!” Victor exclaims.

“Um,” Dr. Katsuki fidgets a little, “Do you like sushi?”

The little restaurant Dr. Katsuki takes them to has dining rooms to give their patrons some privacy and also ensure that large parties don’t end up spoiling the experience for other guests. The rooms are already well-insulated, keeping most sound out. Dr. Katsuki sets his bag down and takes a seat on the opposite side of the table and the waitress waits patiently for their drink orders. “Um, tea? Water? Soda?” he didn’t mention booze, clearly understanding that Victor was technically still on duty.

“Just water will be fine, thank you,” Victor smiles. Dr. Katsuki gives their drink order to the waitress and pulls the menu towards him to scan it.

“Um, is there any food you don’t care for?” the professor taps the menu, “Any allergies?”

“Nope!” Victor replies brightly, “You’re so considerate, Professor.” Dr. Katsuki promptly turns bright pink and looks back at the menu.

“Um, you can just call me Yuuri,” he says quietly, “After all the trouble I’ve caused, you’ve kinda earned the right to call me by my given name.”

“It’s really no trouble at all,” Victor protests, “Besides, this is better than being cooped up in the office all day. I was starting to lose my mind.”

“A difficult case then,” Yuuri murmurs.

“Very,” Viktor sighed.

When the waitress returns with their drinks, Yuuri gives her their order in seamless Japanese and Victor finds it hard not to stare.

“So, Yuuri,” he starts, “what do you teach?”

“Um, developmental biology,” Yuuri answered, “I’m one of the few faculty that speaks English fluently, so I end up teaching most of the foreign exchange students.”

“Wow,” Victor breathed, “looks _and_ brains. You’re the whole package.” Yuuri makes an odd noise and turns an even prettier shade of pink than before. And it’s becoming more and more apparent that Victor’s filter is not going to make a heroic comeback anytime soon.

“So, you, uh, had questions about Ward magic?” Yuuri asked, once most of his embarrassment has faded from his cheeks.

“Mm,” Victor confirms, “it’s a rare magic type isn’t it? There was hardly anything in the Archives’ database, and chances are I wouldn’t find anything in person either.”

“There are some materials,” Yuuri said, “You just have to know where to look for them. But, those materials may not be accessible to, er, outsiders.”

“Outsiders?” Victor repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“People who aren’t Ward witches,” Yuuri explained and then promptly clams up, “I’m…not explaining this very well am I?”

“You’re fine, I just haven’t been asking the right questions,” Victor waved him off, “it’s hard to understand what motivates our target when we don’t even understand what connects the victims. I figured, starting with the magic type couldn’t hurt.”

Yuuri seems to relax after that, and some of the food starts arriving. Victor helps himself to the nigiri and smacks his lips with delight, earning an amused huff from across the table.

“So, it’s probably best to give you some context first,” Yuuri says after they snack a little, though he’s still keeping his hands busy and grabbing food with his chopsticks. “Ward magic was considered one of the basic disciplines way back when, after civilizations started to develop writing systems. Magical communities needed ways to give their laws power, since hiring enforcers wasn’t doing much. You know the Hammurabi Code?” Victor has to admit that it sounds familiar, but he can’t think of specifics, “The very first written code of law in the history of Western civilization. Its discovery was groundbreaking.”

“It was discovered by humans though, wasn’t it?” Viktor asked.

“It was,” Yuuri said, after polishing off nearly half of the tekkamaki, “By the time it was discovered most of the magic holding up the Code had faded, since Hammurabi’s kingdom had long since died off and been renamed.” Victor wanted to ask what this had to do with Ward magic, but he kicked his impatience firmly in the mouth and continued to snack on the food while Yuuri continued, “Ward magic is not just about, well, putting up wards or barriers. Though that’s part of it. Ward magic is giving power to written language.”

When Victor stared at him (totally _not_ checking him out or counting how many eyelashes he had, no sirreebob!) he cleared his throat and shifted a little awkwardly, “Maybe a demonstration, then.” Yuuri drew in the air, trails of energy following his finger until the letters F-I-R-E hung over the table, and Victor could feel the heat of the letters on his face as they became dynamic and began to writhe, the space between the letters becoming more warped until there was no distinction between the individual characters and instead there was a small flame dancing in the air.

Understanding hits Victor like a freight train, and he wonders why the International Magical Coalition aren’t foaming at the mouth to recruit as many Ward witches as possible and have them make any legislation they want thoroughly binding. But then, most Exorcists would be out of a job. “And you can do this without a medium?” he asks, “Without blood, or ink, or…?” Yuuri nodded and released the spell. “That’s incredible,” Victor breathed.

“It has its limits though,” Yuuri said, “For example, I can’t give power to what I don’t understand. My affinity for languages helps minimize that somewhat, but if the wording is too abstract then it’s impossible.”

“Still, it’s amazing,” Victor enthused, “I’m amazed it’s so rare. Can Warlocks learn?”

The staff bring them even more food and there’s so many dishes Victor can hardly see the table top anymore, even with some of the empty plates cleared away. Yuuri reaches for more food still, adding onto his plate.

“It’s possible. Mastering Ward magic was hard for me even though I was born with the affinity,” Yuuri answers once they’re alone again, “and finding a teacher is…difficult.”

They eat in silence for a little while – well, as silent as it can get with Victor exclaiming his delight every time he tries something particularly delicious.

“Is this your first time having sushi?” Yuuri asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement after the umpteenth ‘Vkusno!’ from Victor.

“Real Japanese sushi,” Victor nodded, “I’ve only ever had the Americanized kind.”  

“The flavor combinations can be…interesting,” Yuuri mused, “It kind of became a guilty pleasure of mine, to be honest.” Victor chuckled.

“I don’t often get the opportunity to have authentic Asian cuisine,” Victor said, thinking of the cheap take-out place near his apartment that always tastes best when he’s been drinking.

“Well, I know a few good places. Next time you’re in town, you could hit me up?” Yuuri shrugged a shoulder.

“Yuu~ri~,” Viktor draws out the syllables and absolutely _not_ in a flirtatious way, “I would _love_ to have dinner with you.”

“I – that’s not – I wasn’t –, “Yuuri spluttered, the delicate pink of his blush darkening into an almost cherry red. Viktor just smiled and immediately made plans to ask this man out on a real date.

The opening bars of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ interrupted the moment and Victor huffed, shifting his weight onto one buttock so he could grab his phone. Victor sighed as he contemplated whether or not he should answer it. Yuuri didn’t say anything, even after the ringtone cycled through twice.

“You, old fart!” Yuri growled in biting Russian once Viktor finally hit ‘answer’.

“Evening, Yura, how are you?” Victor replied cheerfully.

“How long does it take to make sure someone’s not dead?” Yuri shouted, “You doing a full molecular analysis or some shit? Get back to the office, you fucking baldy! We have work to do!”

Yuuri looked adorably bewildered by the angry voice coming out of Victor’s phone.

“Yura, I swear you sound more and more like Yakov every day,” Victor commented blithely, “I’ll be along after I finish talking with Professor Katsuki.”

“You-" Yuri begins and then his shouting suddenly becomes background noise.

“Victor, please get back to the office before Yakov has a hernia and loses the rest of his hair,” Mila asked sweetly, “You know the poor man isn’t as young as he used to be. All this stress isn’t good for him.”

“Like I told Yura, I will as soon as I’ve finished here,” Victor replied cheerfully.

“You hag!” Yuri was growling furiously in the background, “Give it back! I wasn’t _done!_ ”

“We’ll see you soon, Victor,” Mila sang and hung up.

Victor sighed while tucking his phone back into his pocket and internalized his grumbling about angry interns ruining a perfectly lovely moment.

“Duty calls?” Yuuri asked, and Victor sorely hoped that was disappointment he heard in Yuuri’s voice.

“Always,” Victor confirmed and then reached for his jacket to grab his wallet.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Yuuri held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s no trouble,” Victor argued, “I’m the one monopolizing your valuable time.”

“And I’m the one who almost killed you with a door,” Yuuri asserted, “Treating you to a meal is the least I can do.” Victor spotted the stubborn set to the Warlock’s jaw and conceded this fight.

“Alright, you win,” Victor said, “But next time it’s my treat.”

“Deal,” Yuuri said quietly, turning that pretty shade of pink again. Ugh, Victor really wished he didn’t have to leave, but his colleagues had a point – he was working on a case. Time was not their friend right now.

He still lingered to help Yuuri finish off what was left and stack the plates neatly for the waitress to cart away. Now he was just procrastinating while he waited for Yuuri to pay so he could walk him out of the restaurant.

“I thought you would’ve taken off already,” Yuuri said when he spotted Victor lingering by the door like a ghost.

“Without saying goodbye?” Victor asked, properly affronted, “I would never!” Yuuri smiled and stepped outside the restaurant with Victor. “Shall I walk you back to the university?” he asked.

“Victor,” Yuuri said pointedly, “are you procrastinating?” he sounded so incredulous that Victor had to smile.

“Of course, I am,” he answered. Yuuri sighed, though his amusement was plain as day on his face.

“Alright, you can walk me back,” Yuuri said, then held up a finger, “but then you have to go to work.”

“Very well,” Victor sighed.

“Is the European Branch really that bad?” Yuuri asked, giving him a sideways look.

“Ah, no. Not really,” Victor admitted, “I just hate being cooped up for too long. Especially when we’re not making any real progress.”

“I see,” Yuuri murmured. They walked in companionable silence for a little while, until they’d reached the edge of the campus and then, “Victor.”

“Yes Yuuri?” he stopped and turned to look at the professor whose jaw was set in a determined look that was quickly becoming familiar, though this time it was accompanied by a worried frown.

“You have to understand why it’s so upsetting to hear that we’re being killed off. There are so few of us now,” Yuuri said quietly, “So, if there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, please let me know.”

“I won’t hesitate,” he replied honestly.

Victor doesn’t leave right away when they part. Instead, he watches Yuuri walk down the concrete path and up the steps to the faculty building and he represses a sigh. He hopes he never has to ask Yuuri to lend his sexy scientific brain to the investigation and disrupt the quiet life he’s set up for himself, even though he’s starting to feel more and more like it might come to that. Their team is relatively new, and this case is so off book . . .

He finally gives the university his back once the door is firmly shut behind the professor and he finds an out of the way place to open a Portal and slip through, stepping through the rip in space to end up directly behind his desk.

“How was Tokyo?” Mila asks from her desk, her eyes glued to the twin monitors.

“Informative,” Victor smiles, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair.

“Sometimes I wonder how your flighty ass has managed to hold on to a job with this department for so long,” Yuri grumbled, taking a sullen sip of the lukewarm coffee undoubtedly stolen from the breakroom down the hall.

“It’s my irresistible charm,” Victor sighed.

“Yeah right,” Yuri deadpanned, taking a seat at his desk, “What in the hell took you so long, anyway?”

“I bet I could answer that,” Mila piped up without taking her eyes off her computer, her voice sly, “Katsuki is a bona fide cutie.” Yuri’s face twisted in disgust.

“He _is_ ,” Victor agreed dreamily, sweet fantasies of taking Yuuri out for breakfast and introducing him to Makkachin temporarily crowding out anything work related. Yuri made gagging noises and glared at them both. “And he’s so _smart_ -“

“Are you telling me you were gone so long because you were fucking _flirting_?” Yuri demanded, before throwing up his hands, “That’s it. I have literally no respect for you anymore. None. Zip. _Zilch_.”

“Now now, Yura, never underestimate the power of flirting,” Victor said sagely, and Yuri gagged some more.

“Unlike you I have some dignity,” the teenager sneered.

“Speaking of dignity, where’s Georgi?” Victor pointed at the empty desk station.

“In the freezer I think,” Mila said, “Said he was going to wrap up that analysis on Rinaldo. Why?”

“Well, he might want to hear this,” Victor answered.

Georgi was glad to get out of the lab and sit for a moment to enjoy a much-needed cup of coffee, even if it was for a few short minutes to endure Victor’s quick lecture on what he’d learned about Ward magic from his favorite professor. It was almost like Victor was a professor himself, fielding questions from his teammates that he tried his best to answer.

“Setting up barriers without an anchor or a medium?” Yuri snorted, “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“It’s amazing,” Victor gushed, “I’ve never seen anything like it. And I didn’t even get to see the full extent of what he can do.”

“But I bet you’d like to,” Mila teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively and Yuri made a gagging noise.

“Don’t be gross,” he said, “We still gotta figure out a motive.”

“Demons are greedy creatures,” Georgi said setting down his cup, “even if this one’s actions are more complex than in previous cases.”

“Which means this goes beyond just simple greed,” Mila added, “There has to be something else at work here.”

“We understand the connection between the victims a little more now,” Victor said, “which means we have something to go on. I’ll see if I can dig up more material to give us more insight later, but for now I think you guys should get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I've never been to Tokyo, let alone Todai (I wish tho). Yuuri works on the Hongo campus. 
> 
> From now on, I'll leave notes at the end. If a chapter warrants warnings, of course I'll post those at the beginning and update the tags as needed. For future reference, I don't have a beta so all the mistakes are mine. Also, chapters will be posted as they're completed, so I don't have a regular update schedule (I'm sorry! T.T).  
> And may I just say, I'm so surprised at the response I've gotten so far! All your kudos, comments, and support are very much appreciated and I purple each and every one of you!  
> You can come scream at me on my tumblr (istoleyourshoelaces) if you'd like, even though I'm hardly ever on there.


	3. Where's Colin Firth When You Need Him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a flashback/nightmarish dream sequence and is the reason I added the PTSD and Mental Health tags.

_March 2019; Bunkyo_

The music continues to play even after Yuuri’s body says, ‘No more’ and he can feel his legs threatening to give out if he doesn’t sit down, so he takes a seat in the middle of the studio floor and leans his weight back on his arms while he gets his breath back.

“ _I feel like Gucci_ ,” Jessi declares from the small set of speakers set up against the mirror and Yuuri gestures vaguely at his phone for the music to stop because he most decidedly does _not_ feel like Gucci right now, and he lets his weight collapse backwards onto the studio floor with a low thud that sounds particularly loud in the sudden silence and he sighs.

Now, Katsuki Yuuri considers himself a simple man. He grew up in a relatively successful onsen in a town that was, at best, a footnote on tourist brochures. He has two parents that are still sweetly in love after being married for fifty-two years, and an older sister slated to take over aforementioned onsen. He was an Exorcist . . . and now he’s not. That’s it.

Now, he teaches developmental biology to exasperated upperclassmen at Todai. He wakes up every morning at eight and hates himself for it every single time his alarm goes off and walks the short distance to the train station. He always buys himself a pastry and some coffee from that little café near the campus and then he teaches all morning. After that, he goes over his to do list and sometimes becomes so engrossed in his work he forgets that there’s an entire world outside the university. It’s a quiet sort of chaos that had required a long adjustment period, but for the most part his days go like clockwork and have done so for the past six years.

Well, until today. Today was kind of a wild card.

He lays there for another minute or two to get his breath back before hauling himself off the floor and padding over to the mirror to pick up his phone, so he can finally go through all of his notifications.

Phichit  
  
Some hot European Exorcist showed up looking for you.  
  
Is there something you're not telling me??  
  
Just sayin  
  
You'd tell me if you had a hot European boyfriend right??  
  
Yuuuuuurrriiiii D:  
  


He can feel his face burning as he reads through the barrage of text messages that Phichit sent him earlier and he takes another seat on the floor, so he can set his phone down to free his hands, before proceeding to bury his face in them and let out a noise that sounds a lot like a severely constipated whale. Phichit might actually choke him for this – hell, he’s tempted to choke himself. His neighbor had given him plenty of warning and if he’d bothered to check his phone he wouldn’t have been blindsided by the ‘hot European Exorcist’ that showed up to his office.

Though, ‘hot’ is a bit of an understatement.

Agent Victor Nikiforov from the HUNTER Department was – is – heartbreakingly gorgeous. And so godsdamned charming and…and _cute_ (Ugh, he just had a flashback to Victor shouting ‘Vkusno!’ when he tried ahi nigiri for the first time). Even after Yuuri nearly smashed his head in with the faculty building door by accident, he’d just smiled and went ‘I’m perfect’. Yuuri had been half-tempted to reply with, ‘Yes you are’, but thank the gods his filter decided that it wasn’t the time for flirting. Besides, men like Victor – a bona fide member of The Beautiful People ™ - didn’t go for men like Yuuri. His flirtatiousness could easily just be a personality quirk.

Of course, that doesn’t stop his brain from vividly recounting all the times Victor smiled.

Stupid brain.

The other notifications on his phone demand his attention and also provide a great distraction from thinking about his newfound – and very pointless – crush. Old emails he’s already answered get dismissed, spam text messages, real text messages (Oh gods, he hopes those weren’t important), and then, of course, all the missed calls. There’s an unfamiliar number in his ‘Recent’ list with an equally unfamiliar area code that is most likely from Geneva. Underneath the two missed calls from EBHQ are several missed calls from home. His sister and Minako-sensei’s contacts look ominous with those numbers in parenthesis indicating _how_ many calls he’s missed and then the little red icon just to sweeten it. He’s in _so_ much trouble.

It’s not like he has any excuse for not coming home to visit more often either. He can use the shadows to travel like any self-respecting well-trained Exorcist who’s mastered the use of Aether. No amount of groveling is going to spare him the ass-kicking waiting for him in Hasetsu. Even so, he resolves to go home on Sunday and spend time with his family, even though he has a lot to do.

Exams to write, final lectures to prepare, and there’s that evaluation coming up before the semester ends. He has students asking him to write letters of recommendation for graduate schools and projects that keep mysteriously appearing in his mailbox despite the fact that he might not even be here for the next term to oversee those projects.

Yep, so much to do.

And yet, he’s here in the studio instead of doing all those things. His previous focus blasted to smithereens. His hibernating laptop had been mocking him about how unproductive he was being, and it wasn’t like he could go home. If he’d gone straight home, he would’ve been restless all night.

He's still not ready to go home. His brain is still stubbornly conjuring images of Victor Nikiforov and making suggestive comments. Yuuri zaps his phone to give it a little extra charge and sets it down next to the speakers before hitting shuffle on his most unsexy playlist.

“ _Somebody call me right one/Somebody call me wrong…_ ”

When he stands, his legs are able to take his weight again and he knows he’s going to be sore tomorrow for pushing it so hard. He hasn’t danced this hard in years, but even now he reverts to his old habit of sequestering himself in the familiar environment of a dance studio. Minako-sensei will immediately see just how out of practice he is and scold him. Even while his feet carry him across the floor, he shivers, and his spine stiffens at the thought of the hell she’ll put him through as payback for both missing her calls _and_ neglecting to keep up with his training (“I have no interest in brats who will let what I teach them go to waste.”).

He lets the music distract him for another two hours and then he concedes that he really has to go home and at least try to get some work done. Yuuri still takes his time with his cool down stretches before finally packing it in and leaving the studio despite the lingering – mostly dulled – itch underneath his skin.

The thought of a shower and a soothing cup of tea waiting for him at home keeps him on his feet until he reaches his building. His Wards are undisturbed, same as always, and he punches in the key code to get into the building. He pushes his awareness of the barrier to the back of his mind while he fishes for his keys on the way up to his apartment.

The key has barely been in the door for a second before Phichit practically materializes behind him – most likely waiting for him to get home – and shouts, “Yuuri!”

He stiffens in surprise for a second before forcing himself to relax, “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” he wheezes quietly, letting his forehead rest against the door with a low thunk.

“Always one more,” Phichit says cheerfully from at least an arm’s length away, staying out of Yuuri’s immediate range (he learned his lesson after the first time he snuck up on Yuuri). The professor gets his heart rate under control and unlocks his door. He leaves his door open even after toeing off his shoes and setting down his bag, then pads through the entryway and towards the kitchen. He hears the door shut and the shuffle of Phichit’s slippers behind him.

“Tea?” Yuuri asked, then catches a glimpse of Phichit’s Hamtaro pajamas, “Cocoa it is.”

“Good call,” Phichit agrees.

Yuuri fills up the electric kettle before setting it on the base to heat and just waited for Phichit to start his inquisition. When there’s just the sound of Phichit shuffling into the living area and making himself comfortable on the couch, Yuuri eyeballs him suspiciously from the kitchen. His young neighbor clicks on the TV and channel surfs until he finds one airing old episodes of _Naruto_.

The electric kettle dings and Yuuri pours in the hot water on top of the cocoa powder mix and sticks a spoon in it that starts to leisurely stir at a wordless command. After handing off the mug of self-mixing cocoa, Yuuri grabs his bag to put it away properly and then disappears into the bathroom to shower.

After all those text messages, Yuuri had been expecting the third-degree as soon as he made his presence in the building known. But this? This is…weird. And somehow much worse than being grilled about the agent who is most definitely _not_ his boyfriend.

 _He’s not interested anyway, especially after reading my file_ , the thought comes from the back of his head, _he’s just a flirtatious person_.  

Phichit is sipping on his cocoa when Yuuri emerges from the bathroom squeaky clean and most definitely starting to feel the consequences of his workout. The hot shower has delayed the soreness, but left his limbs feeling loose and too heavy. “You know, I’m still salty as hell about the fact that Naruto and Sasuke never got together,” Phichit commented from the couch, his hot cocoa cradled in his hands, “I mean they’re _so_ gay for each other! It’s so obvious!”

“Maybe Hishimoto didn’t want everybody to think he was pandering to the fujoshi community?” Yuuri shrugged and poured hot water into a mug. It isn’t long before the herbal fragrance of his tea begins to waft towards his nose.

“That’s just stupid,” Phichit snorted, “He shouldn’t have made the ship so obvious then.”

He should’ve been expecting the interrogation to start as soon as he sat down and made himself comfortable with all the talk about shipping and gayness but Yuuri had admittedly let himself get distracted thinking about how sore he was going to be in the morning.

“So, were you wearing those leggings when he showed up to the office? It would explain why you were so sweaty ten minutes ago,” Phichit said. It was so blithe, so… _casual_. Yuuri almost choked on his tea.

“I only just met him!” Yuuri protested.

Phichit’s eyes promptly lit up at that and his smile took on a wicked edge, “Yuuri, you dirty dirty boy! I never knew you had it in you! Congratulations!”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Yuuri emphasized, “He asked me some questions and then he went back to work.”

“Ooh, what kind of questions?” Phichit asked, leaning in conspiratorially (even though they were the only ones there), “Sexy questions? _Kinky_ questions?”

“I’m starting to think that you’re the one who needs to get laid,” Yuuri deadpanned, “It’s not like like that at all. He’s working on a murder case.” Phichit’s smile disappears, replaced by a thoughtful look as he nods – supposedly with understanding (Yuuri quickly understands that it’s not).

“So…you _don’t_ have a hot European boyfriend?” he asks slowly, his disappointment poorly hidden.

Yuuri gives him a sideways look, “Seriously? That’s the first thing you latch onto?”

“I’m just asking all the important questions,” Phichit shrugged and drank his cocoa, “If we were in danger, you would’ve said so.”

Yuuri briefly considers telling him that practitioners of Ward magic are the targets for this particular monster, and that the murderer isn’t some run-of-the-mill human psychopath but a demon. The thought is dismissed as soon as it comes up; Phichit has too much on his plate, and besides Victor was right – demon or not, it’s not likely that the killer will change hunting grounds so drastically in so short a time.

He takes a long sip of his tea before it can start to go cold.  

“Victor was his name, right? Victor Nicholas or something?” Phichit asked.

“Nikiforov,” Yuuri murmured.

“Bless you,” Phichit said, “Anyway, maybe he’ll be back after the case is closed? I bet he was into you, business or not.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there,” Yuuri said and Phichit rolled his eyes.

“Honey, please, do you even _own_ a mirror?” he snorted, “I don’t know about you, but Mr. Agent guy looked like had excellent taste and you are _fine_ with a capital FUH.” Yuuri tried – and failed – to hide his amused snort in his tea, “Seriously, what’s the Japanese word for it again? _Ikemen_?”

“You are ridiculous,” Yuuri chuckled, “With a capital ‘ruh’.”

“I try,” Phichit preened.

They finished off their drinks and watched an episode of a cheesy new J-drama before Phichit had to call it for the night, since he was scheduled for an early shift at the vet clinic where he worked.

“There’s been a serious case of parvo going around,” Phichit said, “it’s kind of gross.”

“At least it’s not rabies,” Yuuri said, and got an ironic laugh for that.

His neighbor disappears into his apartment across the hall and Yuuri’s left alone in the silence of his. He thinks about his laptop, still hibernating away in his bag and waiting for him to finish writing the final and tweaking the last few weeks’ worth of lectures.

He turns the volume of the TV down low after pulling out his laptop and making himself comfortable on the couch. He proofreads the final exam and saves the draft for further tweaking at a later date if needed. He comes up with challenging clicker questions to test their knowledge and encourage them to study for exams.

And then his sister calls.

Mari’s name looks ominous as it flashes across his screen and he swallows hard when he picks it up and swipes his thumb across the display to answer it.

“Moshi moshi,” he can’t help the nervous tremor in his voice as he speaks the familiar greeting.

“I was surprised to get your text,” Mari said, sounding suspiciously relaxed. It’s one of those ‘calm before the storm’ things that sets Yuuri’s nerves on edge a little bit. “We were starting to think we’d have to come up there and make sure you weren’t wasting away in a gutter somewhere.”

“I really am sorry,” he mumbles, “I don’t really have any good excuses. I’ll come home for a visit this weekend, I promise.”

Mari sighs, “I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that, can I?” and just like that everything’s fine. With Mari anyway. Minako-sensei’s forgiveness will be much harder to earn, and the thought makes his gut curdle a little with dread.

“You sound tired,” Yuuri comments. Of course, she does. Cherry blossom season is at its peak in the south and the onsen is fully booked right now. All hands are on deck and that means Mari is dealing with a heavy workload. Mari laughs shortly, and he hears the click of a lighter.

“Tired is an understatement,” she mutters around the cigarette that is without a doubt stuck between her lips, “but, at least business is doing well. We’re firmly in the black.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Yuuri smiles, happy to hear that everything is going so well. He still feels a little guilty for leaving. If he hadn’t left home, he could be there to help shoulder some of the burden of running the onsen.

“How are things in Tokyo?” Mari asked, “Mom’s gonna wanna know if you’re bringing anybody home.” Yuuri feels himself turn the color of a beet root.

“Things are fine,” he squeaks, and clears his throat, “I’m not…I’m not bringing anybody home. I’ve been so busy, there’s really no time for that kind of stuff, y’know?”

“I hear ya,” Mari chuckled tiredly.

“You should get some sleep,” Yuuri suggests, “You sound dead on your feet.”

“’S ‘cause I am, little bro,” Mari replied, “Cherry blossom season always kicks ass. This year isn’t any different.” She takes a long breath, lets it hiss out between her teeth and he knows she’s taken a long drag off her cigarette, “I’ll see you this weekend, yeah? Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” Yuuri agrees and they hang up.

For a moment, he sits and absorbs the silence. The low hum of the fridge and the quiet murmur of the television are buffers against the sudden wave of homesickness. Suddenly he craves his mother’s cooking, hearing her hum quietly while she puttered around the kitchen, his father’s cheerful way of greeting the guests.

 _Don’t cry_ , he tells himself and his eyes burn with unshed tears.

He pulls his laptop back towards him and goes back to work, finishing lecture slides and tweaking his notes. He troubleshoots the clicker software to make sure it’ll work in the morning and emails his TA a copy of the lecture just in case. By the time he finishes, it’s nearly two in the morning and his eyes are burning for an entirely different reason.

“Time for bed,” he sighs and turns off the TV.

He saves his work, makes sure that the backups are uploaded to both of his thumb drives before shutting down his laptop and he puts it on charge. He pads into the bedroom and puts his phone on the charger on the nightstand next to his bed. His glasses join his phone and he pulls the rumpled sheet over him while settling into the mattress.

It doesn’t take him that long to fall asleep, the lingering sluggishness from his shower aiding in the physical shut down. So, that makes the nightmare all the more unexpected.

 _The heat was stifling, and each breath_ hurt _. He could feel his nails catch and break against the floor while dragging himself away from the fire that was steadily growing out of control. Flame licked and bit at the walls, at the support beams and he could hear the house beginning to crumble at the fire’s voracious coaxing_. _If he could just make it to the stairwell, he can survive this. He can. He has to._

_He coughs violently, each hard inhale to violently expel the soot in his lungs just invites more smoke and his eyes are burning. His fingers shake as he tries to draw Wards on his clothes to keep them from burning, but his hands won’t cooperate, and his Wards fall apart._

Keep moving _, he orders his body,_ just a little more. _Move_ Katsuki _._

_Blood welled from his torn nailbeds as he dug his fingers into the tiny gaps between the floorboards and pulled himself forward. He agonized at his slow progress, cursing his shattered legs and the flames crackle greedily, spreading further and further. He can feel the heat through the soles of his boots; the sturdy dragon hide leather is supposed to be flame retardant and acid-proof, but against this flame they’ll burn like kindling and cook his legs._

Shit _, he curses,_ shit shit _. Move dammit._

 _He reaches forward, and his bloodstained fingers brush up against something decidedly_ not _wood. It feels like a shoe, and he squints wishing he had his glasses. His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and he drags his gaze upward._

_Victor Nikiforov’s sharp Russian features are thrown into relief by the ominous green light. The sleeve of his jacket is on fire though he doesn’t seem to notice. His face is creased with confusion, blue eyes reflecting the light as he stares down at Yuuri._

_“I thought you said you could help.”_

Yuuri has to claw his way back to wakefulness and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom when he does. The soft light from the stove barely filtering in from the crack underneath the door. Slowly he lifts himself, so he can flip over his pillow, the beaten cotton damp with his sweat. For a moment, he lays there until his heart calms down and takes deep breaths.

He (sarcastically) congratulates his brain for inserting Victor Nikiforov into a dreamscape that’s a little lower on Yuuri’s list of terrifying incidents, instead of featuring him in something kinky. He remembers the job that inspired it – but only in bits and pieces. He’d been newly promoted and green enough to walk right into that trap. And he’s not ready to go back to sleep, even though he has to be awake in about three hours to teach. He lays there for a few minutes, telling himself that he’s fine, that he’s in his heavily fortified apartment.

 _I’m not burning_ , he tells himself, _it was just a dream. A dumb nightmare_.

His fingers are still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline and the overwhelming urge to escape. Eventually, he hauls himself out of bed and pads out of his bedroom into the kitchen. He squints when he clicks on the light, all of his surroundings that are more than two feet from his face are blurry and he navigates his kitchen by pure muscle memory. He fills the electric kettle and sets it on the base, grabs a mug and a tea bag, sets out the jar of honey and a spoon. His hands don’t shake, the tremors eased by the familiarity of routine, but he still feels unbalanced. Wobbly. Like his limbs are made of soggy clay, threatening to give under the pull of gravity and their own weight.

The water in the kettle begins to boil and his right hand takes the wrist of his left. He takes a moment and stills, can feel the low throb of his pulse under the thin skin of his palm. A pulse of magic leaks from his fingers into the hidden ink there and the mantra flares bright orange as its activated. Peace gradually replaces the panic humming in his blood, rationalizing away the uncertainty of whether or not he’s actually here in his body and not actually burning alive in that decrepit house from nearly eighteen years ago.

He finishes making his tea and settles on the couch in front of the TV, the channel turned to some inane early morning programming for children. He sips sedately at his tea and stares sightlessly at the television. The screen is fuzzy and indistinct anyway. All he can see are vague colorful blobs.

Yuuri never makes it back to bed, instead he dozes on the couch. When his alarm goes off in the next room, he’s still tired and sleep clings stubbornly to his limbs. He hauls himself up and cracks his neck after sleeping on it weird, then stalks into his bedroom to silence his alarm. He showers robotically, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed. The forecast tells him there’s a slight chance of rain, so he throws on a hoodie over his t-shirt. Shoes on, hair brushed, and his bag packed, he runs through his mental checklist before finally leaving for the station. Phichit’s apartment across the hall is quiet which means he’s probably already left for his shift.

His day has officially begun, and he feels like shit.

The barista at the café he frequents must recognize that this morning’s a bad one because she slips him an extra shot of espresso and adds whipped cream and chocolate syrup to the top of his drink with a sympathetic smile. He appreciates it because he’s a sucker for sugar.

There are already students sitting in the lecture hall when he arrives, thoroughly determined to ignore each other (and him) until class officially begins. He goes about setting up his laptop, running the answering software again in case it decides it wants to misbehave and quickly reviews his notes. The batteries in the laser pointer are already dead – which is no surprise since every lecturer uses this remote ceaselessly, and it’s irrelevant because he’s a Warlock. More students trickle in, chattering amongst themselves and squeezing down the rows into seats and making themselves look studious. When he lowers the screen and starts the projector, eventually the lecture hall goes quiet.

“ _Ohayou gozaimasu!_ ” he greets his class, “Last week, we finished talking about the development of the heart and the cardiac outflow tract. Today, we’re going to switch gears a little and talk about sex determination . . . “

**~ T ~**

Sunday comes with no incidents and without further ribbing from Phichit about his pointless (and totally nonexistent) crush on the European Exorcist that he’ll never see again. He hasn’t had any more nightmares since that last one, for which he is grateful, but instead of his dreams being traumatizing they’ve become vaguely awkward and Yuuri would rather eat his laptop than explore the inner machinations of his incorrigible subconscious brain and all the numerous ways it seeks to torture him using Victor’s image.

He stands in his living room and cracks his knuckles. It’s been a long time since he’s opened up a Portal, but when he reaches for the magic it’s there and he touches the air in front of him. It ripples and shivers, and he can smell the ocean just as the doorway opens and he steps through onto a secluded strip of beach, the rolling tide just barely missing the heels of his shoes.

Hasetsu looks exactly the same as it did since he last came to visit almost a year and a half ago. And he smiled as he breathed it in.

This was _home_.

His feet carried him up the beach and towards the road, shaking sand off of his feet when he reached it. The smell of cherry blossoms was faint with the trees losing their flowers. In Tokyo, the trees were budding but they hadn’t bloomed just yet since it was further north and not quite warm enough yet. Hanami was a busy season for Hasetsu with people coming down for the earlier cherry blossom viewings. He remembers helping Mari polish the floors, change linens, and clean the baths. Already, he can hear the sounds of his mother in the kitchen and the crackling of oil while a pork cutlet coated in egg and panko browned to perfection…Ugh. He’d have to roll himself back through the Portal to Tokyo, he could already tell.

Memories of his mother’s cooking were reinforced by the onsen coming into view, and he could tell that his timing was perfect with the breakfast rush completely over by now.

From the outside, Yu-topia Katsuki didn’t look like much. The building was well-maintained for its age and it had a certain charm. The inside, gave the _slight_ impression that it was bigger than it seemed. It wasn’t like in _Doctor Who_ when new companions saw the TARDIS and exclaimed, “It’s bigger on the inside!”; they had to be a little subtler than that to accommodate both humans _and_ their supernatural guests.

It was surprisingly quiet when he stepped inside, and nobody was at the check-in desk, but he could hear feet puttering around in the kitchen, washing dishes and putting things away. He could hear the TV going in the communal lounge (based on the snippets of dialogue it was some cheesy drama). Yuuri toed off his shoes and found his house slippers waiting for him in the same place that they always were.

“ _Tadaima!_ ” he called out and there was a loud metallic sound, like a pot being dropped and then Katsuki Hiroko was shuffling out into the entryway, her sleeves damp from doing the washing up.

“Yuu-chan?” she blinked, clearly surprised (and confused) and then her expression softened into a smile as she shuffled forward to gather him up into a soft hug.

“Is that Yuuri?” Katsuki Toshiya came out of the kitchen with his hands still soapy.

Apparently, his parents had had no idea that he was coming to visit.

And really, not telling them seemed like just the thing Mari would do for entertainment (“I’m just sad I was cleaning the showers when you made your entrance. I bet the looks on their faces were _priceless!_ ”).

“You’ve gotten so thin,” Hiroko frowned, cupping his face in her hands and smoothing her callused thumbs over his cheekbones, “That university works you too hard, Yuu-chan.”

“I’m just dancing a lot more, mom,” he reassured her, taking her hands in his, “I eat plenty. Too much, really.”

Of course, Katsuki Hiroko wasn’t having any of it and she gave him a disbelieving look then told him to go greet his sister and tell her that lunch would be ready soon. Toshiya chuckled fondly and disappeared into the kitchen behind his wife to finish helping her with the dishes.

Lunch with his family was nice, and it would’ve felt like he’d never left except his paranoid brain kept niggling him about the fact that Minako-sensei could – and _would_ – turn up any second now, and he was half-tempted to bolt if not for the fact that the woman had both blackmail material and the strength to break him over her knee. Instead of giving in to his baser animal instincts telling him to get the fuck out of dodge, he rolled up his sleeves and helped with the afternoon chores. Guests are starting to vacate after getting their fill of the cherry blossoms and the empty rooms need to be turned over for future patrons.

“You gonna tell me about the bug that crawled up your ass?” Mari asks, leaning on her broom. The tengu that had been staying in this room checked out this morning and left the room a mess after an unexpected molt, which meant it looked like a whole murder of crows had been…well, murdered. Feathers _everywhere_. Yuuri stopped in the middle of sweeping to look at her.

“Um…what?”

“Come on. You haven’t visited in over a year and you call maybe once a month? I’m not even gonna start on how terrible you are at _answering_ your phone,” Mari half-laughed and Yuuri rolled his eyes, “And all of a sudden, you remember that you’re a capable Warlock who can Portal across the country to visit his family?”

Yuuri sighed and straightened, looking into the pile of ash grey feathers like they held the answer to coming up with a well-articulated response.

“An Exorcist came to my office a few days ago,” he said suddenly, and Mari’s eyebrows nearly disappeared underneath the lip of her bandana, “he was investigating a series of murders and his team were worried that I would be scoped out as a potential target.” Mari frowned at that.

“So…? You think you’re gonna end up in a trash can somewhere?” Mari asked, “Like you aren’t the best fighter I know?”

“You haven’t even seen me fight,” Yuuri protested and Mari gave him a _look_. He shut his mouth and went back to sweeping. Mari didn’t join in, instead continuing to watch him with that same inscrutable look that she undoubtedly got from their mother.

“Is this about you wanting to go back?” she asked suddenly, and he nearly dropped the broom.

“It’s not,” he denied. _Liar_.

“Look, Yuuri,” she said, “There’s nothing wrong with missing it. If you wanna go back to being an Exorcist, then go back. Nobody’s stopping you. As long as you’re happy and don’t come home in a bucket, then we’re happy too.” There’s not much he can say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

It took them another thirty minutes to get all the feathers into manageable piles and then another twenty to sweep it all into garbage bags, so they could be properly disposed of.

“Next time we’re charging damages,” Mari grumbles, grabbing up both bags and hauling them out of the room.

Yuuri picks up the brooms and carries them out, shutting the door behind him and making sure no one can see when he discreetly traces purify on the door. The spell burns a bright mercurial silver for nearly half a minute and when its finished, the Ward he’s drawn fizzles out and disappears. He picks up the brooms and carries them down the hall to put them away in the custodial closet, which isn’t too far from the door leading upstairs that has an ‘Employees Only’ sign on it.

His bedroom is the farthest door down the first hallway on the right.

And it’s exactly the way he left it – if a little tidier and a bit dusty.

Last time he was here, he’d cleared the drawers of old doodles and notes from high school. Decades old paraphernalia had gone straight into the garbage and he’d donated or thrown out a lot of his old clothes.

He uses the rag still in his pocket to at least wipe off some of the dust clouding his framed posters on the walls, and to snatch up some infantile dust bunnies around the foot of the bookshelf.

When he’s done, he puts everything away and pads back down the stairs to see if there’s anything else that needs to be done. He doesn’t find his sister in any of the rooms that were recently emptied and cleaned, and he doesn’t find her in the laundry room either. And the last places to look are the lounge area and the kitchen.

Incidentally, he finds Minako-sensei relaxing in the former at the table where the Katsuki family usually takes their meals, with a bottle of sake and he freezes.

“Yuuri, I was wondering where you’d gone,” Mari greets him a little too casually which means she knows he’s in trouble and of course her sympathy is nowhere to be found.

“I was just tidying up some more,” he says awkwardly, “Um, _konbanwa_ Minako-sensei.” Her eyes narrow at him.

“Nice of you to join us, Yuu- _chan_ ,” Minako replies with a smile that’s too sweet and therefore dangerous.

“Well, I need a cigarette,” Mari announces and hauls herself to her feet and Yuuri hates her for bailing when she knows he can’t without invoking Minako’s outright wrath.

“Go on and sit,” Minako says, pouring some sake in the empty cup that Mari left behind, “your mother is going to start preparing dinner soon.” He takes a seat and picks up the cup but doesn’t take a sip.

“Minako- “he begins.

“Drink,” she orders, and he drains the cup in one gulp. She’d pulled out the good stuff for this conversation. It goes down smooth and he’ll be drunk in no time if he keeps going. She pours him another, “You’ve been slacking off. I can tell.” He hangs his head and doesn’t say another word. “But I’m not going to yell at you for that just yet, but I _am_ going to yell at you right now for being selfish.” He looks up at that, his lips parting wordlessly. “You have people that worry about you, Yuuri. And I don’t care if you’re the biggest badass in the history of the Agency, you’re not immortal.”

“I promise I’ll do better,” he says quietly and feels like he’s sixteen and stupid all over again.

“I’ll hold you to it, brat,” Minako promised and took a gulp of sake from the bottle, outright ignoring the cup and she’s nowhere close to being drunk, “I expect to see you in my studio at least once a week. You still have the key I gave you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“Good,” she says airily, “In fact, I want to see you there tomorrow evening. Now drink your sake.”

“Okay,” he agrees, drains his cup again, and understands that he is so very _very_ screwed. Minako takes a long drink from the bottle before refilling his cup, and for the time being it really seems like she’s done scolding him, but he knows he’s not even close to being off the hook.

“So, are you coming out of retirement?” Minako waits to ask after she’s refilled his cup, and he nearly chokes on the first sip. “I’ll take that as a ‘maybe’.”

“Did Mari say that?” he asked and quietly took another drink.

“More or less,” Minako nodded, “Look, Yuuri, you know that it’s fine if you want to go back, or whatever you decide to do. Just make sure to call home more often, mm?” she pointedly raises her eyebrows and he smiles sheepishly.

“Yes sensei,” he easily agrees, takes a drink and puts most of the conversation out of his mind immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if Japanese universities employ active learning methods like my university did. Eh, call it artistic license?  
> I was going to upload this sooner, but having no internet access at home means I have to wait. I contemplated leaving this chapter out, but I thought it might provide insight into Yuuri's thoughts since this story is mostly from Victor's POV, and he is still one of the main characters. I've aged up Victor and Yuuri a little bit, so Yuuri is a little better at managing his mental health than he is in canon.  
> Until next time! :3


	4. Perfect Examples of What Not to Do

_March 2019; European Branch Headquarters - Geneva_

Yakov’s office was bereft of any personal affects. There were no pictures, or mementos, not even a knick-knack or two to brighten up the space, but there was plenty of evidence pertaining to just how hard Yakov’s job was. As Assistant Director of the HUNTER Department, there was no shortage of paperwork to be done. There were stacks of manila folders, at least three label makers, papers without proper places to go, and paperclips. _So many paperclips._ He assumed Yakov’s office had always been this impersonal since it had been this way ever since he’d known him.

Victor didn’t like coming in here. It was too stuffy. Suffocating almost. The piles of paperwork gave him nightmares about spending eternity chained to a desk, stapling and filing his less-than-perfect-but-admittedly-okay life away. But, he’d had the whole of his morning walk with Makkachin to resign himself to facing the paper-pushing horror that was Yakov’s office and formulate the best way to phrase his proposal so that the man couldn’t possibly say no.

“The answer is no,” Yakov said flatly. Victor blinked, and took a minute to process that he had just been told –

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard correctly,” he smiled vacantly.

“I said no,” Yakov repeated and glared at him from behind the desk. Victor heaved a long-suffering sigh and rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows where a wrinkle would form if he wasn’t careful. He knew that Yakov knew that he was right. He was only being difficult because if there was one thing the old chrome-dome hated it was being accused of playing favorites.

“Yakov, we can’t go on like this,” Victor kept his voice level, he wasn’t about to devolve into outright begging, “it’s been nearly a week and we’re no closer to nabbing the target than we were in Milan. We’re flying blind here and we need help. This team is not experienced enough to handle an outlier like this.”

“And you’re telling me that this has absolutely nothing to do with your little crush?” Yakov deadpanned, sounding remarkably like his terrifying ex-wife (he probably got it from her).

“Yakov, I didn’t take you for someone who listens to office gossip,” Victor gasped and got an eyeroll for his dramatics. “But, in all seriousness, this has nothing at all to do with any feelings I may or may not have. Dr. Katsuki knows his craft well and can be an invaluable resource.”

Yakov gave him a deadpan stare for a solid two minutes in silence before waving him out, which Victor understood to be a ‘maybe’. It was better than nothing, but it still couldn’t beat the solid ‘yes’ that he’d been banking on. His frustration left a sour taste in his mouth as he left.

Victor wasn’t surprised to find Mila hovering outside the office door, one expertly done brow arched in skepticism. She’d heard everything most likely – Yakov’s office wasn’t entirely soundproof and she had vampire ears.  

“You’re trying to get Katsuki on as a consultant,” Mila said, “Victor, you haven’t even read his file.”

“I don’t need to,” Victor rebutted.

“Um, yes. You kinda do,” Mila replied, and held up a razor thin tablet – standard issue for the department – and gave it a wiggle before shoving it at him, “You _think_ you don’t need to, but it definitely would’ve helped you make your case better than ‘I talked to this dude for a couple hours and his ass makes me think he’d be legit’.”

“You haven’t seen his ass,” Victor mumbled, but of course Mila heard him.

“I’m not saying I disagree with you, ‘cause I don’t,” Mila said, “I’m just saying, things would’ve gone a lot smoother if you’d done your homework like you usually do.”

“Well, you’re right of course,” Victor conceded, “But, it still takes the fun out of everything, doesn’t it?” Mila just sighed.

“I’ll put in a word with the old grumpster, okay?” she said, “In the meantime, Georgi wants us to come down to the freezer.”

“What for?” Victor asked.

“He didn’t say,” Mila rolled her eyes, “Typical Georgi. What is this? A cheap American crime drama?” she leaves the tablet with Victor and steps around him to knock on Yakov’s door.

Victor leaves Mila to it, putting the tablet on his desk, and makes for the double doors that lead out into the hallway and spots Yuri heading towards him, “Ah, Yura! How was school?” and gets a vague grumble in response which is as close to a ‘good’ he’s ever going to hear. “Wonderful,” he chirps and then seamlessly hooks his elbow through Yuri’s in passing to drag him back down the hall, “Come, we’re going on a field trip!”

“What the- Let me go!” Yuri protested, “I can walk by myself you know! I’m not a fucking child!”

“Georgi wants to see us in the freezer,” Victor says brightly.

“Again, I can _walk by myself!_ ” Yuri was nearly shouting now, and annoyed Exorcists were poking their heads out of their offices to see what the ruckus was about, so Victor abruptly lets Yuri go and he immediately falls straight on his ass with a squawk and a string of Russian obscenities.

“Yuri, keep it down,” Victor shushed him patiently, “there are people trying to work here.” he punctuates this by waving cheerfully to some of the aforementioned annoyed Exorcists who shake their heads and retreat into their offices. Yuri glares at him and seethes all the way down to the EBHQ Analyst Department.

The crime lab is like a whole different world compared to what Victor sees on a daily basis. Taking up a whole wing, it’s always busy with all the Sub-quarters in Europe sending in samples to be analyzed and processed for cases that are pending trial. People in lab coats dart back and forth, carrying print outs, boxes, and evidence bags labeled with red tape.

Georgi is waiting for them in what is affectionately dubbed the Freezer – where they keep bodies for analysis. The room he’s commandeered for this case is brightly lit and all four bodies are laid out on tables in order by the date they died.

“I gotta say, Georgi,” Mila said, breezing through the swinging doors just behind Victor and Yuuri, “if _this_ is your idea of a romantic rendezvous, Anya’s reluctance is understandable.”

Georgi gave her a sulky look, clearly unimpressed with her half-assed jabs at Georgi’s failed attempts to romance the HR secretary.

“And why the fuck are they still here, anyway?” Yuri asked, pointing at the four slabs, “They were supposed to be sent home, so their families could bury them, weren’t they?”

“I’m getting to that,” Georgi said, “I was doing some last-minute preparations so they could get picked up and I noticed something.” he pulls the sheet a little lower on Rosita and looks up at his teammates who are still standing a good few feet away, “You might want to come a little closer.”

Her olive-tinted skin is sickly pale, almost grey, and veiny, and her salt-and-pepper hair is splayed out over the table. The torn flesh over her heart has been repaired to the best of Georgi's ability, but even he can’t work with what he doesn’t have and using magic on dead bodies is strictly prohibited so trying to regenerate her missing skin would’ve gotten him in trouble. Underneath the stitches and the cracked sternum, the wound is dark and congealed.

“Look here,” he pointed to the circumference surrounding the wound, “these jagged edges, the tearing.”

“Looks like she was fucking mauled,” Yuri muttered, unable to disguise his horror.

“Precisely. And now here,” Georgi turned around and folded down the sheet covering Antoine’s chest. The poor man had been found by his family in their home in southern France, splayed out on the kitchen floor and his blood staining the previously pristine marble flooring. Victor imagines the man’s wife and kids are still going through some intense counseling.

“The cut is much cleaner,” Victor commented, his eyes tracing the comparatively smoother (but still jagged) circumference of the hole.

“There’s still a lot of skin missing,” Georgi nodded, “and his sternum was still shattered to hell. The Marseilles Sub-quarter could only find about three-quarters of it. Our Jane Doe? Even cleaner, less skin missing, the sternum still broken but not punched through.”

Georgi reluctantly folds the sheet down, until it’s just below the wound, as if he can’t bear to disturb the poor girl’s rest. Her hair looks even more red, a shock of vibrant color in a cold room filled with dead people. Victor wouldn’t describe her face as serene at all, more expressionless – purposefully blank. Like she just resigned herself to her fate just before her heart was removed. The bones of her young face and body are sharp underneath her skin, and the shadows underneath her eyes look like deep bruises. Victor couldn’t imagine that being homeless made for very restful sleep, and the signs of malnutrition are so painfully obvious. If the dictionary were a picture book, this girl would be right under the word ‘tragedy’.

“Rinaldo has barely any skin missing. The removal of the heart was almost surgical,” Georgi rolled back the fourth sheet and frowned at the corpse. Rinaldo’s chest showed signs of Georgi’s handiwork. Instead of a horrible gaping hole with congealed dead tissue and old blood, there were neat stitches holding his skin together to cover it up, most likely in preparation for the boy’s family to have him buried.

“So,” Mila begins slowly, “our target wasn’t an experienced killer at first?” she’s wandered back over to Rosita and starts walking down the row, “It gained experience, little by little. But, this kind of precision,” she stops in between Jane and Rinaldo, “requires medical training.”

“The target is evolving,” Victor added, “most likely, it realized it had to be more efficient if it wanted more out of the victims. More magic that is.”

“But, I haven’t even gotten to the weirdest part,” Georgi said, and holds up Rinaldo’s arm, free of bruises or blemishes, “none of the victims showed signs of a struggle. No weapons found at the crime scene, no other wounds. I mean, you’d _think_ they’d fight right?”

“I’d fight,” Yuri muttered, “I’d fight like hell.”

“We know, kitten,” Mila puts her arm around him, “And you’d give that monster a run for its money too.” Yuri scrunches his nose at the nickname, but still waits a good ten seconds before shrugging her off.

Victor didn’t understand why a demon would want to steal magic anyway. He tapped his chin, lost in thought for a moment. Demons didn’t feed on magic. Some fed on emotions, thoughts, or memories. Some fed on flesh. But people? People could steal magic. People _have_ stolen magic. And a person with stolen magic could probably force his or her victims to submit to be a sacrifice.

Georgi covers the bodies back up and they leave to let him finish preparing the four victims for pick up, so they can be properly laid to rest. And Victor ruminates on the way back up to the office. Yuri grumbles about being hungry and breaks off to raid the break room for snacks, while Mila and Victor continue down the hall and past the double doors where their shared floorspace is waiting for them still. If you listened hard enough, you could hear Yakov’s frustrated grumbling, muffled behind the walls of his office.

Mila hesitates before sitting down and straightens up again, “I’m getting coffee,” she announces, “You want anything?”

“I’ll have some too,” Victor nods, “Thanks.”

Mila leaves the office again, leaving Victor by himself. He stares at the twin blank monitors for a beat or two before swiveling his chair closer and giving the mouse a wiggle to wake up his computer. He types in his credentials once to log in and then again to access the IMC’s records of remand. It’s likely that if there is a summoner then they’re looking at a repeat offender, otherwise they’ll have to start from scratch. But for now, it’s a promising idea and Victor will take what he can get. There are nearly four hundred remand facilities under the European Branch’s jurisdiction, and less than a hundred of those are supermax prisons.

A search for those brought in for magical theft brings up a list too long for them to adequately sift through before the next body turns up. He narrows the search to those with medical backgrounds (per Mila’s earlier idea) and released within the last five years. He grabs a pen and a pad of paper, scribbling names and prisoner ID numbers down.

“Here we are,” Mila says, setting down a paper cup with light brown liquid inside, “Cream and three sugars, just like you like it.”

“You’re a diamond,” Victor says, pausing in his work to take a sip.

“What’s this?” Mila raises an eyebrow at his screen and picks up the pad of paper.

“Possible summoners,” Victor answered, “These lovely men and women have all been arrested for magical theft, and they all have medical backgrounds.” Mila’s eyes scan the page and then she pauses and slowly gives Victor a sideways look.

“Let me guess, you want me to play ‘Where Are They Now’ with these _shining_ individuals?”

“You’re so much better at it than I am,” Victor smiles cajolingly and Mila sighs.

“Fine. Finish the list and then give it to me,” she sets the pad of paper back down on his desk and goes back to her desk to sip her coffee in peace. Yuri chooses that moment as his cue to wander back into the office slurping at cheap cup ramen that he’d probably found buried in one of the break room’s cupboards.

“What are you doing now?” he asks with a few noodles hanging out of his mouth.

“Being productive,” Victor said cheerfully, writing down the last name and ID number and getting up to hand the list to Mila who sets down her coffee and takes it from him, swiveling her chair around to face her monitors while she gets to work. Yuri doesn’t look very impressed.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘productive’,” he deadpanned, “Care to tell me what it means this time?”

“It means we’re looking into potential leads,” Mila spoke up, “Now be quiet and let me work.” Yuri makes a face at her, but doesn’t argue, and slurps sullenly at his ramen.

Victor quietly – but violently – suppresses the impatience that’s rapidly starting to overwhelm him and picks up the tablet still sitting on his desk. He doesn’t typically use it since he feels his smart phone is sufficient enough, but the tablet has its uses given its mobile access to the Agency’s databases and Archives. Behind the lockscreen, Dr. Katsuki Yuuri’s personnel file is still pulled up thanks to Mila. He doesn’t want to read all of it (you can’t really know a person by reading their file, now can you?) and he won’t have to; if Yakov is seriously considering Victor’s proposal, then he’ll read up on Katsuki himself and – hopefully – be just as impressed as Victor is.

He types in his passcode and his eyes immediately gravitate to the photo to the far left of the screen. Yuuri looks a little bit younger, he’s not smiling – they’re not allowed to for their registration photos, this is the Agency after all, not the DMV – but his features are still soft, especially with the glasses, so it doesn’t look too much like a mug shot.

                                                                                                                Katsuki Yuuri     A/3

                                                                                                                DOB: November 29, 1975

                                                                                                                Country of Origin: Japan

                                                                                                                Designation: Warlock, Ward Witch

                                                                                                                Status: R.O.S.

                                                                                                                      Last updated 190318

It’s not as hard as he thought it would be to reconcile the soft image of the professor with the rank he sees next to his name. The first lesson anybody learns in this job is that appearances can be deceiving. Of course, his curiosity is intensified, and he hopes that Yakov’s earlier ‘maybe’ will become a ‘yes’.

“Just how many names are you running?” Yuri asks loudly, interrupting Victor before he can venture further than Yuuri’s current address and primary telephone number.

“Forty-two,” Mila replies blithely, her eyes glued to the monitor even with Yuri’s presence hovering near her shoulder, the cheap foam cup from his snack dangling precariously from his fingers at his side.

“And we’re supposed to interview all of these schmucks?” Yuri demanded, “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“Do you have any better ideas, kitten?” Mila asked, typing in more names, running more faces through facial recognition software, combing mundane databases for addresses and work histories.

“Forty-two is a more manageable number than three hundred and seventeen, Yura,” Victor sang, and the teenager turned slowly to level him with a withering look.

“Really?” he deadpanned, “I _never_ would’ve guessed. My primary school teachers have _all_ failed me.”

“I’m sure your education at Gorynych is more than enough to make up for it,” Victor said brightly, and Yuri’s expression twitched, “Now, we don’t need to interview _all_ of them, just the ones who have been displaying overtly suspicious activity lately.”

“Well, twelve of these are dead so far,” Mila said, closing out a window with a digital scan of a death certificate, “so that narrows it down some.”

“Yeah, to thirty,” Yuri says, “Which is still a lot.”

“It’s less than- “Victor began.

“Finish that sentence,” Yuri interrupted with a narrow-eyed glare, “I dare you.” the familiar smell of ozone was back to add to his threat and Victor smiled.

“forty-two,” he finished, and Yuri’s hair began to stand on end.

“Lookie what we have here,” Mila crowed, effectively dispelling the tension, “an active warrant.” One of the monitors displayed a copy of said warrant next to a mugshot of a very morose looking man. “Filip Janowski, fifty-three. He used to be a nurse in a hospital in Warsaw, but he was fired and arrested when both mundane and magical patients suffered odd symptoms under his care unrelated to their original ailments. Fatigue, dehydration, mild anemia. Y’know, typical symptoms of having your life force or magic siphoned off. He was released two years ago, missed an appointment with his probation officer back in November, he hasn’t gone back since and now there’s an active warrant out for his arrest.”

“So, is he in custody or…?” Yuri asked slowly.

“No,” Mila answered, “which is surprising considering this man does _not_ know how to go off grid.” she pulls up security footage taken from a supermarket and she points to a rather gaunt figure paying for his meagre cart of groceries. Her eyes narrow at the screen, “Which makes _this_ even weirder.”

Victor leans up against the desk behind her and folds his arms, touching a finger to his mouth while watching the traffic cam footage Mila’s pulled up. “In between visits to the local hospital, he goes into this alleyway, several times a week like clockwork and virtually disappears for several hours.”

“He could be going anywhere,” Victor muttered.

“His staying on grid could be a ploy then,” Yuri suggested.

“I don’t know,” Mila said, and switches back to the security footage from the grocery store, “You can’t really fake being that oblivious.”

“Well, I guess we’ll visit him first,” Victor chirped, coming to stand over Mila’s other shoulder to get a better look at the video. It’s a little grainy, and in full color, but Victor can make out the prominent dark circles under Filip’s eyes and the hollows of his cheeks.  

“I’ll run the last few names,” Mila said, “if we don’t get another obvious hit, there are some super sketchy people we could check out.” Victor’s tablet pings.

“Are we splitting up, then?” Yuri asked, a little too eagerly in Victor’s opinion. Mila and Victor exchange a quick look and then –

“Awww,” simultaneously, making the teenager flush and, ah yes, there’s the smell of ozone again.

“So cute,” Victor cooed.

“I hate you,” Yuri declared, “You’re both assholes for making me rethink my life choices.” He stalks off, presumably to throw away the remnants of his very cheap snack, and leaves Victor and Mila to quietly snicker at her desk.

“So precious,” Mila sighed, still typing and scrolling away.

“I heard that, hag!” Yuri shouted from across the room.

“Oh, look at that, we have another winner,” Mila brightly declared, “One so-called Bonnie Hardbrook, thirty-one, her warrant has been active for two weeks. She’s been a little better at going off grid than Filip, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got her location pinned down.”

“Wonderful,” Victor said dryly, “I do like variety in my suspects.”

“We’re getting real food while we’re out,” Yuri cut in, “The snacks here are fucking lame.”

“You hear that, Mila? Yuratchka actually has a hankering for some vegetables,” Victor said, grabbing his jacket from his desk.

“You’ll need them to grow big and strong,” Mila cooed, standing and patting Yuri on the head and promptly getting her hand swatted away.

“Fuck off,” he growled, “I’ll be taller than you soon. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

**~ T ~**

Protocol dictates that they hunt in pairs, no matter _what_ it is they’re hunting. Humans can be just as unpredictable as demons, even if they are easier to track down and generally have slower reaction times. Victor remembers his first job and how he’d gotten cocky – and then ended up in the Medical Ward for two weeks.

“What I wanna know is,” Yuri says, after they’ve stepped out of the Portal and into the Polish sunshine, “how the NPs didn’t already track down and arrest this guy? I mean, the geezer clearly isn’t a modernist, right? He’s not hiding. So why the fuck hasn’t he been detained?”

“It’s likely that Janowski isn’t a priority,” Mila answered, her eyes glued to the screen of her tablet, “he’s a fifty-three-year-old man living with his daughter who hasn’t changed addresses since he got out of prison. Like you said, he’s not a magical modernist, practically incapable of going off-grid. When they get around to hauling him in on that minor violation charge, they can easily track him down.”

“There’s still a chance he could be our summoner though,” Yuri frowned.

“And on the off-chance that he was?” Victor asked, easily changing directions when Mila points them down a cross street, and continues when Yuri opens his mouth, “Sure, we could have called the local Sub-quarter and asked them to detain him for us, but they aren’t equipped to deal with a demon. We’d be showing up to a bloodbath instead of an interrogation.”

“Not too far now,” Mila said.

They’re in a part of the city that’s a little unsavory, where the buildings are older and maintained less. Filip and his daughter live in one of aforementioned buildings that has definitely seen better days. The brick façade is crumbling to reveal pockmarked concrete underneath, the few windows overlooking the street that aren’t boarded up are so stained that Victor quietly wonders if anybody inside actually gets any sunlight.

“This place is a dump,” Yuri announces.

“I’ve seen worse,” Mila shrugs and Yuri snorts.

“Well so have I, but it’s still a shithole,” he says.

On the inside, there’s an odd unpleasant smell that clings to the walls and the cheap threadbare carpeting. They find Filip’s apartment on the second floor and when the ex-convict opens the door and sees the emblem on Mila’s standard issue jacket, the look on his face is one of sad resignation. Without the noise of camera footage to distort his features he looks even more of a fright in person. His clothes barely fit and there’s a pallor to his skin to match the unholy amount of gray in his hair that suggests he’s unwell.

“Do you mind if we come in?” Mila says in English with an easy smile.  

He lets them inside, closing the door behind them. “You’re awfully courteous for people here to arrest me,” he says, his English thickly accented but he speaks it well. 

“We’re not here to arrest you, Mr. Janowski,” Victor tells him and the man’s thick eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Why are you here then?” he asked.

“We’re with HUNTER. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Mila answered, then pointed to a framed photo on the tiny end table at one end of the couch, “This is your daughter?”

“Yes,” the word is heavy with sadness and Victor notices that the apartment is strangely quiet. There’s no trace of magic in the apartment at all, which is even more odd. He half-expected there to be an old-fashioned cauldron in the corner, maybe some obviously magical items throughout the apartment since the man, as Yuri said earlier, isn't a modernist. There’s an outdated television set shoved up against one peeling wall, across from a very old couch. Yuri is lingering near the door, but his eyes haven’t stopped moving.

There’s an air of melancholy – no, maybe something more potent like grief? – hanging over the grubby apartment. “Nobody but you in this apartment for a long time,” he comments aloud, and Filip’s sadness is all the more obvious. Written into the lines of his face, the sallowness of his cheeks, and the hollows around his eyes.

“What is it that you want?” he sighs tiredly.

“There’s been a series of murders where the victims are being drained of magic,” Mila comments and horror temporarily replaces the sadness on Filip’s gaunt face, “and given your history- “

“And you think _I’m_ responsible?” he asked, “I have never killed anyone! Never! I have done things that I’m not proud of, but _never_ murder.”

Yuri opens his mouth but promptly shuts it when Victor gives him a look and a small shake of his head.

“We have to explore every lead we have,” Mila said, “and your past history, unfortunately, makes you a suspect. Unless you have solid evidence that you haven’t left the country at all since December.”

Filip looks offended that they’d even consider him, “My daughter has been in the hospital since November,” he says bitingly, “she took a turn for the worse. I have hardly left her side. Leaving the country now would be impossible for me.”

Victor wordlessly conjures Mila’s tablet and hands it to her. “I know you regularly visit your daughter in the hospital, Mr. Janowski, but there are hours in between your appearances that need to be accounted for.”

The old man rings his hands and looks both horribly conflicted and sad. Victor steps around Mila, who’s staring the man down and watching him wrestle with himself, and into the kitchen. He wrinkles his nose at how _tiny_ it is. The little gas stove looks like a fire hazard and there’s pots and saucepans taking up all the available space on and surrounding it. But, when Victor looks in the sink there’s no dishes to indicate the remnants of a meal. Victor lifts one of the lids and his lips tighten into a grim line, “Mila,” he says, “he’s not our summoner.”

Mr. Janowski makes a resigned noise.

Mila peeks over Victor’s shoulder, “Well, shit.”

“Good news, Mr. Janowski,” Victor announces cheerfully, “we’re not going to arrest you for murder. But we _are_ going to call the Warsaw Sub-quarter and report this. You’re in serious violation of the Treatise on Magical Substances, you know.”

The liquid inside the pot is clear as water but the sparkling crystals forming at the bottom are pitch black and glitter like precious gemstones. Victor is careful when replacing the lid, since even the unrefined liquid form can deliver a potent contact high.

Once the phone call is placed, it doesn’t take long for a small team of Exorcists to show up and swarm the place, and the three of them are effectively kicked out once they put Janowski in restraints and start bagging up evidence.

“You kinda have to feel for the guy,” Mila says, when they put the building and its odd smells and even odder residents behind them, “he just wanted to take care of his daughter.”

“It’s not really an excuse though,” Yuri replies, “he ruined the lives of others trying to save one person.”

Mila and Victor exchanged a look over his head and then looked at their resident angry intern who – as it turned out – was (maybe?) growing up right before their eyes.

“Where to next, Mila?” Victor asked, and she consulted her tablet.

“Hardbrook,” Mila answers, “last seen early this afternoon entering a luxury apartment complex in central London.” The footage on her screen is grainy and pixelated, and her appearance is brief but there’s a slim woman fast-walking past the camera in an ostentatious fur coat and gigantic sunglasses obviously worn in an unsuccessful attempt to obscure her face, a multitude of bags clutched in her hands. Her savvy for avoiding cameras clearly lapsed for about thirty seconds, but it was enough to give them a bead on her location.

It’s likely that she hasn’t relocated in the three hours since the footage was captured, and so Victor opens a Portal that deposits them in an alley about five blocks from aforementioned apartment complex. Nobody answers when they knock, and Victor and Mila stand there for a moment before turning to each other.

“Oh no,” Victor gasps, pressing his hands to his cheeks, “what if something happened to the poor woman inside?”

“Oh no,” Mila gasps, and mirrors him, “what if you’re right?”

Yuri stares at them both with serious judgement in his eyes, clearly questioning his life choices (again). Victor wordlessly unlocks the door to allow them all into the pitch black of the apartment. The interior is plain white walls, soft white lighting, and pale lacquered wood. Huge windows provide a magnificent view of Tower Bridge.

“I’m not going to ask what all of that was about,” Yuri deadpans, looking around after turning on the lights. 

“It’s called ‘probable cause’, Yura,” Victor said cheerfully, “Miss Hardbrook! Are you home?” Yuri rolls his eyes.

There’s clearly no one home. And, unlike Filip’s apartment, there’s traces of magic but in mundane places like around the fireplace and the fragments of an enchantment placed on the door that Victor undoubtedly broke when he magically unlocked the door.

“Anybody else think the place is…strangely clean?” Yuri said, jabbing a thumb behind him, “It’s fully furnished but there’s no fucking dishes or food in the kitchen.”

“It’s likely she just moved in,” Mila replied taking a seat on the furniture, “or she’s squatting here.” 

“Might be that she’s squatting,” Victor comments, taking a seat the dining table and conjuring a magazine, “it’s not uncommon for the well-to-do around here to have multiple properties. She could have broken in here, stolen someone’s identity, the possibilities are endless.”

All three of them pause when they hear a rustle outside the door and cursing. It swings open and Bonnie sweeps in with yet more bags hanging off her arms, bottle-blonde hair, gigantic sunglasses and all. She freezes when she sees that the apartment is not as empty as she’d left it.

“Shit,” she breathes, her covered eyes fixed on Mila’s standard issue jacket with the skull and two crossed scythes of the department on her right arm. She takes a step backwards and Yuri immediately takes it as his cue to shut the door and it sounds like a gunshot in the awkward silence.

“Look,” she begins, “if this is about the thing that happened with my parole officer, I can explain. It’s all just a misunderstanding.” She turns to Mila with a supplicating look that’s ruined by the large sunglasses still on her face, “You believe me, don’t you, doll?”

“A fascinating story, I’m sure,” Victor said, hauling himself to his feet and banishing his magazine, “which I’m sure the NPs would love to hear.”

“Is this you?” Mila holds up the tablet and shows her the still from a restaurant security camera, dated and time-stamped.

“And if it is?” Bonnie removes her sunglasses, her eyes flick from the screen to Mila’s face and then back to the picture and she shrugs a shoulder, “I’m not allowed to go on dates now?”

“Right, you just _happened_ to be in Spain three days before a woman was murdered,” Mila says, flips to another still taken from a nightclub, “and in France before a man and a teenager were killed, and then in Italy before yet another murder. You are a busy _busy_ woman.”

“Honey, I’m a con artist not a murderer,” Bonnie says coolly, “and if I was gonna kill someone, I sure as shit wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave a trail.”

“Really not helping your case, lady,” Yuri chimed in, his English lightly accented. Bonnie raised one sharply arched brow at him.

“Aren’t you, like, twelve?” she says, and he bristles.

“If that’s all you have, I’m afraid we’ll have to take you in on four counts of murder,” Victor tells her. Bonnie’s jaw works, her frustration plain on her face. When she says nothing else, Victor conjures a pair of restraints and recites her rights.

“And that kids,” Victor says later, “is why you don’t deal in stolen credit cards and false identities. There’s no paper trail to give you a solid alibi should you get entangled in a murder case.”

“I don’t think it’s her,” Yuri declares, “she’s too stupid.”

“You’re just mad ‘cause she called you immature,” Mila said.

“She called herself a con artist and yet she’s been caught _five_ times,” Yuri retorted, “Her ass might take the fall for this if we don’t find other evidence because her dumb ass decided using stolen identities and fake credit cards was better than, I don’t know, actually getting a fucking job like the rest of us. She has no paper trail to back up her alibis, the history and suspicious behavior to incriminate her. Like, shit!”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Victor admitted with a shrug and internalized his smug grin at the look on Yuri’s face at being told that he’s right, “If and when another body turns up while she’s in our custody, we can turn her over to the New York Sub-quarter and they’ll handle her violation charge from there.”

“Wonderful,” Mila sighed, “I suppose that means we’ll keep interviewing.”

“Food first,” Yuri demands, “I’m not like Mila, I can’t survive on a liquid diet.”

“Food first,” Victor agrees.

“Swag,” Mila seconds and triumph glitters in her eyes when Yuri turns slowly to give her a disgusted look.

They get pizza at a place downtown, not too far from EBHQ, and afterwards Mila and Victor insist that Yuri go home. His mood sours when they remind him that it is a school night and he most definitely has homework that he has most certainly not done.

“You know, Yura,” Victor reminds him when Yuri stubbornly insists on staying with them, “you have a better chance of being allowed to take the proficiency exam if your grades are high.”

Their angry intern goes stiff and then finally grumbles a grudging agreement to go home and actually study. Victor sighs when Yuri steps onto the Transportation Circle back at the office (his Portals are still too unstable for him to use for travel) and then disappears.

“I wish he wasn’t so eager to grow up, you know,” Mila says suddenly when the hum of magic fades and the office is suddenly a little too quiet, “I mean, it’s inevitable and he should just enjoy being young while he can.”

“Mm,” Victor quietly agrees, “Shall we?”

“Of course,” Mila says, and sips on her soda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I prefer going to London in springtime when there's a lot more going on and, you know, when there's actually more than four hours of daylight. But that's just me.  
> The drug the delightful Mr. Janowski was cooking up in his kitchen is commonly called 'glass' by the magical community. The Treatise on Magical Substances is basically a set of laws regulating, well, magical substances. Pretty self-explanatory.  
> Gorynych is a dragon from Russian folklore that besieges cities and kidnaps women. I thought the name was cool so it became the name of the Russian Academy of Magic.
> 
> I went ahead and fixed the tags (or possibly made them worse, I dunno). If you guys are interested in learning more about the universe that spawned from the dark cavern that is my twisted noggin, you're more than welcome to check out my [Tumblr](https://istoleyourshoelaces.tumblr.com/) . If you guys have specific questions or there's something you'd like to know about it just let me know in the comments. :3


	5. All Aboard the Murder Train!

_April 2019; St. Petersburg_

Victor huffed and sat up, his weight hunching over his curled knees and he looks at his delightful poodle who’s completely dead to the world on the gigantic dog bed just beneath the window. Usually it goes unused, since Makkachin prefers to sleep on the human bed with his human companion, but he’d gotten fed up with Victor’s tossing and turning, and so retreated to his bed on the floor. Now, it’s nearly half past four in the morning and he’s no closer to sleep than he was four and a half hours ago when Mila had planted her foot on his backside and actually _kicked_ him out of the office.

“Go _home_ , Victor,” she’d said, “and get some fucking sleep.”  

He was almost tempted to tell her that she wasn’t the boss of him but considering she’s capable of actually lifting him over her head and _throwing_ him he kept his sass to himself.

He sniffed and raked his fingers through his hair, absently noting that it was almost time for another haircut. He wanted to sleep, _really_ he did – actually that was a lie, there were so much more important things he could be doing right now. Mila was probably at the office already after getting her mandatory four hours of shut eye and sifting through the documents he’d physically pulled from the Archives. He hopes she’s having better luck than he did because all the material on magic circles that he’s gathered so far don’t seem to be helping. He’s even resorted to researching Wicca and Satanism, and he can already see the look of disdain on Lilia’s face, made so much more severe by her wicked sharp cheekbones (“I thought better of you, Vitenka,” she’d sniff. _Ugh_.)

At this point, he’s going to ask Yuuri for help with or without Yakov’s permission. The department big wigs didn’t care for him much whether he followed policy or not – even if he did get results – and he’s done way stupider things than bringing on a consultant without permission. And just like that, he’s convinced himself to go recruit Dr. Katsuki but then his brain reminds him that if he doesn’t at least let Mila in on this he’ll never hear the end of it. And if he goes back to the office now to tell her about his plan she’ll use her superior strength to physically drag him to the Medical Ward and have him forcibly sedated. But if he stays in the confines of his apartment he’ll definitely lose his mind.

So, he ends up in Moscow standing outside the little house where Yuri lives with his grandfather scrolling down his list of contacts until he finds the one labeled ‘Kitten’ and hits ‘call’.

It takes three tries for Yuri to finally answer.

“What?” he growls into the phone, “What the _fuck_ do you _want?_ ”

“Yura,” Victor says cheerfully, “are you busy? Let’s go train!” there’s a long pause and Victor can practically _hear_ Yuri’s disbelief and quietly simmering rage.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Yuri demands, “Do you know what _time_ it is?”

“I am perfectly capable of reading a clock, Yura,” Victor confirms, “I’m already outside.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going back to sleep now,” Yuri snaps. 

“The proficiency exam is in November,” Victor says before Yuri can end the call, “and I know you’ve been looking for a way to one-up the other applicants.” Yuri's not the youngest ever to take the exam (which absolutely infuriates him) but he’s been looking for a way to score higher than Victor did and, even better, to do it on his first try. There’s a long moment of silence where Yuri considers his options. 

“I’ll be out in five,” he says and hangs up. 

“You better fucking feed me, Nikiforov,” Yuri grumbles when he reemerges nearly ten minutes later with a bag slung over his shoulder and changed out of his pajamas into breathable clothing. He's changed into sweatpants – probably pulled over a set of leggings – with a sports bag in hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. From the looks of it, he thinks they’ll be at the gym right up until he absolutely has to leave for school.

“Of course,” Victor smiles, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Yuri fixes him with a disgusted look.

“You’re so gross,” he says, “Why the fuck are we going to train at the asscrack of dawn anyway?”

“It’s the best time,” Victor said, opening a Portal and they step into the dark interior of the gym.

“I fucking hate you,” Yuri grumbled. 

Victor turns on the lights slowly. The private gym they use is smaller than the department training facility and a little outdated, but it still has an open floor space that’s perfect for sparring, and this way Yuri doesn’t have other trainees in his space. A bin full of blunted training weapons is at the edge of the foam mat taking up the majority of the floor.

Yuri drops his bag and his sweatpants with a huff and steps onto the mat to begin warming up, grumbling under his breath the whole time about ‘annoying as fuck morning people’. Victor tries to suppress his amusement while he stretches. He’s surprised that Yuri didn’t just shut the door in his face, but he supposes that even Yuri has a thirst for learning.

Except, if that were true he’d actually consider taking Victor’s advice.

“You’re overextending your reach again,” Victor sang, and side-steps Yuri’s lunge and the teenager twists in an attempt to redirect his attack only to end up losing his balance completely and he falls to the mat.

“Maybe if you’d _stay still_ ,” Yuri growled, hauling himself to his feet and picking up the knife. It’s obvious he’s out of practice, the weight of the blade is unfamiliar in his hands. But, at least he’s holding it correctly. Victor chuckled.

“I hate it to break it to you, Yura, but in the real world your targets will often be moving ones,” he said, “You’re getting too overzealous and going on the offensive.”

“Not my fault you have such a stabable face,” the teenager muttered. Victor isn’t entirely sure if he should take that as a compliment or not.

“Try again,” Victor suggests, and Yuri rolls his eyes before settling into his stance again. Before Victor can start pressing Yuri’s defenses, his phone starts to ring –

“ _I’m a boss ass bitch bitch bitch bitch_ -”

Victor leaves Yuri on the mat to fetch his phone and swipes to answer, “Ah, Milochka! Good morning!” and there's a heavy beat of silence. 

“…. why am I not surprised that you’re wide awake?” Mila deadpanned, and Victor opened his mouth to reply but Mila just sighed, “Just, get to the office ASAP.”

Victor looks at Yuri after Mila hangs up, “Sorry Yura, but we’re going to have to cut this short. I’ll leave the keys with you.”

“You still owe me food,” Yuri reminded him, "and I charge interest, old man."

“Which you may collect later,” Victor nodded matter-of-factly and then looked down at himself with a considering look before changing into a pair of jeans, a different t-shirt, and his jacket issued by the department. “Stop by my place when you get a chance and take care of Makkachin, will you? This may take a while.”

“Oh sure, it's not like I have anything else to do," Yuri grouched, disappearing into the locker rooms with his bag to shower and change. 

As soon as Victor gets to the office, Mila and Georgi make it clear that they’re not staying long. They have their uniform jackets on and Mila has a camera bag, which definitely means another body has been found.

“So, where are we off to this time?” Victor asks, tapping his fingertips together excitably, “Paris again? Perhaps, Berlin?”

“Florence,” Mila answers, “we got a call about an anonymous tip about twenty minutes ago. A young girl, apparently she sounded pretty upset.”

“I believe the gentleman at the Florence Sub-quarter used the word ‘hysterical’,” Georgi added, zipping his bag closed and slinging it over his shoulder.

“When they sent someone over to check it out, they saw the scorch marks and called us,” Mila finished.

Victor blinked, “Well then...” All the other times the bodies were found it was reported by a close family member (except in the case of their Jane Doe of course, whose finding had been reported by a deeply disturbed werewolf who’d gone for a midnight stroll) who’d stuck around to give a statement, “Did he say who the victim was?”

“He only called to report the tip and the marks,” Mila said, shaking her head, “said they’d have the scene secured for us by the time we got there but they’d otherwise keep their hands off.”

“Well let’s hope they mean that, shall we? I do hate it when a crime scene is corrupted,” Victor clapped his hands.

Their arrival in Florence is hailed by a heavily overcast sky and damp streets. Rain is still coming down in a light drizzle, but it looks like the heavier storm has passed for now, and the atmosphere – he feels – is a little too appropriate.

“Oh,” Georgi says quietly when he realizes where they’re standing.

They’re at the edge of the local university’s campus, where all the (slightly) roomier housing is available. The apartment building is new, with the doors painted bright and welcoming colors to break up the monotony of slate gray concrete. There are bicycles and hanging plants and cheap patio furniture dotting the balconies. A resident on the floor above them is blasting EDM, the music bleeding through an open window. There’s a young Exorcist waiting for them at the entrance to the building, her hair pulled away from her face in a low ponytail.

“Signora Babicheva? My colleague spoke with you on the phone,” she greets them in English.

“That’s me,” Mila nodded, “These are my teammates, Victor and Georgi.”

They exchange nods and she turns to escort them inside, “This way.”

Victor can smell burnt straw when they get to the second floor and he sees that the origin is the remnants of a welcome mat outside the door. The doorknob has been crushed, the locking mechanism melted and there are a few light scorch marks warping the doorway, especially around the hinges. All three of them stop and exchange a look. The young Exorcist looks nervous, her hands clenching and unclenching nervously at her sides.

“Have you been inside?” Victor asks her, and she shakes her head.

“I put up the tape,” she answers, “that is it.”

He looks down at where her fingers gingerly play with the hem of her jacket and he holds out a hand, “Your hands. May I?”

She shakily holds up them up with her palms facing him, and he tuts quietly, while gently examining her singed fingers. “From now on, I would recommend wearing protection on your hands if you come across marks like these. They are extremely volatile, and the energy can linger for hours and still cause damage.” He can’t do much for her. The healing spells he knows are very basic and for temporarily relieving discomfort. He quietly casts one and her tremors ease a little bit while his colleagues wait patiently for him to finish, “I would visit the Medical Ward immediately, otherwise the damage will spread.” 

“Thank you, signor,” she says quietly.

“We’ll take it from here,” Mila tells her and the Exorcist, effectively dismissed, takes off.

Victor turns towards the door and pries off the police tape.

“What was that you said about protecting your hands?” Georgi asked pointedly.

“Hm? Did you say something?” Victor replied guilelessly, using the toe of his shoe to nudge the door open and they peer inside while Georgi rummages in his bag for sterile shoe covers. He won’t call in backup until everything has been properly documented and until then, the whole crime scene has to remain as, er, clean as possible.

The apartment isn’t that big. There’s a secondhand couch in an area that’s supposed to the living room, a small dining area with a table and an even smaller but clean kitchen where a kitchen knife, a cutting board, and half an onion – in the process of being diced – have been abandoned.

So far it looks clean.

A little _too_ clean.

Victor takes the shoe covers from Georgi and slips them on over his trainers before carefully making his way inside the apartment. “No obvious signs of a struggle,” Victor murmurs, his eyes sweeping over the dining table and the small living area. He keeps going further, finding the bedroom door wide open and the circle burned into the floor.

He was expecting the circle. He was expecting the body. He was _not_ expecting the cleanliness to extend to the crime scene.  

Somehow, this is more disturbing than seeing the walls and floor painted in blood.

“Victor?” Georgi asks, coming up behind him, “What’s…?” he audibly loses his train of thought when he gets a good look over Victor’s shoulder. “What the fuck?” he breathes.

Victor starts at Georgi swearing and nearly takes a moment to document the occasion, instead he calls for Mila. “You need to see this,” he says and steps out of the way, so she can take a look. 

“I…was not expecting this,” she says slowly, taking in the almost spotless bedroom. The bed is unmade, there’s clothes and shoes in messy piles on the floor and spilling out of the closet. Books, pens, and notebook pages covered in doodles and (possibly) notes litter the bed.

“This is definitely weird,” Victor agrees. Mila silently starts snapping photos, the click of the shutter temporarily filling the silence. He considers the girl lying on the floor and how if her glassy eyes weren’t fixed on the ceiling, and her limbs in slightly awkward positions, it would almost look like she was asleep.  

“Poor thing,” Georgi sniffles and Victor pats him consolingly on the shoulder, “She was so young.”

“Do you need a minute?” Victor asks.

“No,” Georgi gives a hard sniff and shakes his head, “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Victor asked and Georgi nods insistently, sniffling again.

Mila crouches gingerly at the edge of the circle, barely touching the outer ring and snaps more pictures. “I think,” she mutters, rising fluidly to her feet, “that that’ll do.”

“Is that everything?” Victor asked.

“We can start doing a sweep,” Mila nodded then sighed, “I wish I had a werewolf’s nose.”

“Why? You have a pretty nose,” Victor said, making her roll her eyes.

“Georgi, you can do your thing now,” she says and points to the girl on the floor.

Georgi sets his gear on the floor, his forehead creased while he pointedly avoids looking at the horrific circle and pulls a pair of sterile gloves from his bag and gingerly reaches out to examine. “She hasn’t been dead that long. Rigor mortis hasn’t fully set in yet,” he murmurs and squints contemplatively into the air, “so, I’d put time of death around two to three hours ago.”

“Our target may still be in the city,” Mila murmured.

“Hm,” Victor hums contemplatively and steps away from the bedroom to stand at the focal point between the dining area, kitchen, and living room while facing the entryway. It takes him a moment to remember the entire spell, since it’s been too long since he was able to use it but eventually his mouth quietly forms the words, making sure to enunciate properly (Greek has never been his best language).

When he reopens his eyes, there’s the yellow glow of a street light streaming through the thin curtains and he looks towards the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board in a slightly uneven rhythm. The girl is in the kitchen, humming happy while she chops up an onion, her hips swaying slightly. He can more clearly see the leftover smudges of eyeliner, the faint stain left behind by a long-lasting lipstick. Victor’s eyes narrow when there’s a knock at the door and he has to crane his head around to glimpse the time displayed on the microwave: 2:39 AM. The girl stops humming and looks at the time.

“Hm, she’s early,” she murmurs, sounding surprised but happy.

Victor bites back a curse when she opens the door and of course the perp has cloaked themselves. He can make out a humanoid shape, but otherwise – to his eyes – it looks like a creature made completely out of shadow. Everything quickly goes downhill when she forces the door shut on her murderer. Her fingers move, drawing a rune that looks vaguely familiar, but the Ward she’s drawn quickly loses power when the shadow forces its way into the apartment. Victor’s eyes narrow against the killing intent – so strong it’s reaching him despite the fact that he’s a projection.

The girl shuts herself into her bedroom just as the shadow blasts its way in and makes a b-line straight for her. The door comes off its hinges and the shadow raises an arm, catching her in an invisible grip and halting her efforts to break the window to escape. Victor swallows hard and the projection wavers around the edges but he forces himself to keep looking, to watch the creature pin the girl, summon the circle underneath her, and plunge a hand straight into her chest.

She makes a tiny aborted sound, halfway between shock and pain, her eyes fixed on the ceiling and the projection abruptly gives out, the spell having run its course.

“-ictor! Victor!” Mila’s got a hand on his shoulder, shaking him and he blinks owlishly.

“Hm?” he says and shakes his head, “Sorry. What did I miss?” Mila takes a deep breath like she’s trying to calm herself before she smacks him into next month.

“Could you maybe _warn_ us before you do something like that?” she snaps, “Jesus frying an egg on a pterodactyl _Christ_.” Victor has the grace to at least look a little sheepish at her scolding and she sighs, “You going to tell us what happened or…?”

Georgi emerges while hanging up his phone and he tucks it into his pocket, “See Mila? I knew he’d be okay.”

“Actually, I’d like to sit down,” Victor said with a strained smile. The spell didn’t completely deplete his energy, but his reserves did take a hit and he reaches behind him for one of the chairs at the tiny dining table, so he can take a seat.

“Okay, maybe he’s not fine,” Georgi concedes, and Mila gives him her ‘I told you so’ eyebrows.

“I’m okay, really,” Victor reassures them, “I projected myself into the past to see if I could get a look at our target.”

“Did you get a good look at it?” Mila asks.

“Unfortunately, it’s smart enough to use a cloaking spell,” Victor said sourly, “All I saw was a shadow.”

“Well shit,” Mila mutters.

“You know,” Georgi began, “I’m starting to think that we have another Jack the Ripper on our hands.”

“Jack the Ripper only targeted sex workers,” Mila said.

“Well, yes, but that’s besides the point,” Georgi replied, “He was never caught by the police. What if we never catch up to this guy?”

“Georgi, you have so little faith in us?” Victor pouted, “You’re supposed to be the optimist.”

“I thought _you_ were the optimist,” Mila said.

“Ah Milochka,” Victor said, “You should know by now that I am neither the pessimist or the optimist.”

“Well you can’t be the realist,” Mila said.

“I thought that was Iggy Azalea?” Georgi asked. Mila and Victor both turned to give him odd looks and he sighed, “I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke.”

“Anyway, as I was _trying_ to tell you earlier,” Mila said, “our victim’s name is Arianna Durante, aged twenty-three according to her license and a student here at the University of Florence.”

“This makes the second young victim in a row,” Victor murmured, “You’d think they’d go after an older practitioner, someone who’s had more time to hone their affinity. The magic would be more potent then.”

“It reeks of desperation,” Mila agreed.

“There’s probably not a whole lot of older Ward practitioners around,” Georgi added, “your professor said it was rare, didn’t he? It’s possible the elder generations are dying off.”

Georgi’s phone goes off and he glances at the screen to see who it is, “Ah. CSI’s here.”

“Wonderful,” Victor muttered, hauling himself out of the chair, “Mila and I will leave you and your nerds to it then, yes?”

“It would be much appreciated,” Georgi deadpanned.

There’s a team of five analysts waiting to be let into the building and they all balk a little at the scorch marks. “Just don’t touch them and you’ll be fine,” Georgi says in an effort to reassure them and while none of them look particularly convinced they recognize there’s work to be done and step inside the apartment anyway to begin combing the place for any physical evidence. A strand of hair, a drop of blood, maybe some skin cells…anything to help identify a possible summoner and lead the Hunters to their prey.

“You were right you know,” Mila says quietly, her face dimly lit by the screen of her tablet in the shadowed hallway, and Victor hated the resignation in her voice, “we can’t do this by ourselves.”

“Mila-,“ Victor starts.

“This is more complex than anything we’ve dealt with in the past,” she railroads, “and you’re a damn good Exorcist, but we’re not enough. Our target is too slippery.”

“Oh good, you’re done,” Victor said, “I was _going_ to say that I’m going to talk to Yuuri as soon as Georgi’s done with his analysis.”

“Yakov won’t like it,” Mila commented. Victor scoffed at that.

“You could fill a book with the things that Yakov doesn’t like,” he said, “he’s not right about everything, and he’s certainly not right about this. He’s been sitting behind that desk for too long.”

They fell silent, watching the members of the crime lab set up a temporary Transportation Circle in the middle of the living room so they could transport the body without alarming the neighbors, and then it occurs to Victor that the girl’s relatives probably haven’t yet been informed of her untimely demise. The thought leaves his stomach feeling a bit heavy with dread. He’s gotten somewhat better at not squirming when the tears start and saying ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ never seems to hurt, but he never knows what else to say or do except maybe throw more tissues at them and hope the crying stops.

Georgi and two other analysts are carefully shuffling out of the bedroom with the girl’s body bagged up and her weight distributed between the three of them. He steps away from the circle and the other two vanish with her in tow. “We’re just about wrapped up here,” he says, gingerly stepping out of the apartment so he won’t touch any part of the scorched doorway, “I’ll have the autopsy done by tonight if everything goes smoothly.”

The tape goes back up when it’s all done, and the apartment is left strangely empty. There’ll be no doubt that something happened in this place and Victor wishes that something different could’ve been done. Getting rid of the scorch marks and the horrid circle in the girl’s bedroom will be a challenging task for the MR Department.

Victor sends Georgi along with the rest of the analysts back to HQ, which leaves himself and Mila to deliver the unfortunate news to the girl’s relatives.

“Can’t we ask the Sub-quarter to do it for us?” Victor asks, trying (and failing) not to sound too whiny. She knows he's no good at this stuff. He doesn't understand the benefit of attempting to deliver bad news 'gently'. 

“Our case so it’s our responsibility,” Mila said.

“You sound just like Yakov,” Victor commented, horrified, “Where did my Milochka go?”

“It makes us look bad if we pawn it off on someone else,” Mila heaved an exasperated sigh. 

They’re in front of a modest house far outside of the downtown area and Victor can smell something delicious wafting through a nearby open window and suddenly he’s aware that he hasn’t eaten yet today. Willing his stomach not to growl, he rings the doorbell and clasps his hands politely behind him.

Even if Mila hadn’t told him who lived here, Victor could have immediately guessed that the woman who answered the door was Arianna’s mother. The shape of her eyes and the set of her cheekbones were traits echoed by her child and Victor swallowed his discomfort. She looks a little discomfited by the foreigners on her front stoop wearing jackets that belong to the department, and at such an early hour of the morning.

“Can I help you?” the English phrase sounds stilted in her mouth, heavily accented and half-practiced.

“We’re sorry to intrude, signora,” Victor replies in his slightly accented Italian, “Are you Mrs. Durante?”

“I am,” she says, and looks between the two of them crossing her pajama-clad arms, “What’s this about?”

“Your daughter,” Mila’s Italian is a little stilted, her pronunciation practically ruined by her Russian accent.

“It’s probably best if we come inside,” Victor adds when Mrs. Durante becomes visibly concerned.

“Are you police?” she asked. Victor and Mila exchange a look at that, realizing that this woman is a mundane.

“We’re with the IAPS,” Victor says quietly, “under the Magical Coalition.”

She pokes her head out, looking in either direction before ushering them inside. “Is Arianna in trouble?” she asked.

Telling a parent that their child is dead is hard. 

“Her body was found this morning,” Victor says solemnly and Mrs. Durante swallows hard, pressing a hand to her mouth.

“And…and you’re sure it’s her?” she asks.

“We’re so sorry,” Mila replies. Mrs. Durante looks between them both, her expression hopelessly lost as her brain takes a moment to process that her daughter is gone and she sinks into the nearest chair. 

“Someone from the department will be contacting you in a couple of days once the autopsy is finished,” Victor says quietly, “and then, if you want, you can see her and confirm her identity.”

When they leave, the neighborhood seems oddly quiet. The sky is still heavily overcast but the drizzle from earlier has stopped, though the darker patches of clouds promise heavier showers later on with maybe some thunder thrown in there for flavor. And Victor thinks – again – that it’s all ironically appropriate.

“That never gets easier,” Mila says.

“Mm,” Victor hums, still trying to shake his lingering discomfort.

They stop somewhere for breakfast before heading back to headquarters. Mila eyes the syrniki Victor ordered with visible longing but resigns herself quietly to her tea and croissant, since dairy in such quantity will make her sick even if she takes it in slowly. Victor can hardly taste his breakfast, even though he went heavy on the blackberry preserves and he chews slowly. 

“Penny dreadful for your thoughts?” Mila asks, nudging his leg under the table with her foot.

“Hm?” he starts, looking up from his plate.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” she comments, “What’s up?”

“It’s been a long morning,” he replies, “I think I’m starting to feel it.”

“I’ll say,” Mila snorts, “I can tell you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Victor sighed, unable to deny it. How could he sleep? His impatience buzzed under his skin even more urgently now. Always _hurry hurry hurry…_ There was no time to sleep, especially not with a fifth body currently taking up room in EBQH’s freezer and a sixth most likely on its way. “I tried,” he said, but Mila didn’t comment further. She sipped delicately at her tea and nibbled at her pastry, while Victor goes back to robotically eating his own breakfast. He’s not quite sure how to phrase what he saw without inspiring the same awful urgency in his coworkers, and Georgi’s autopsy will surely be illuminating enough.

They take an order of syrniki and a coffee to go which Victor presents to their favorite analyst upon their return to HQ.

“I’m a bit busy Victor,” Georgi sings when Victor pokes his head in. Arianna is laid out on a slab at the back of the freezer, her body on a rolling table halfway out of the fridge. Georgi is standing over her with a clipboard, categorizing every bump and bruise, and he hasn’t taken a scalpel to her yet.

“You can afford a few minutes,” Victor cajoles, “Come on, it’s syrniki with blackberry jam. Your favorite.”

Georgi fixes him with a look before giving a sigh of resignation. He nudges the corpse back into the fridge, the lock engaging on the door with a quiet click and he sets down his clipboard before stripping off his gloves, “This isn’t a ploy to assassinate me, is it?”

“Gosha,” Victor gasped, sounding appropriately offended, holding up the bag for him to take when Georgi steps within reach to take it, “if I were going to kill you, it certainly wouldn’t be by ruining a perfectly good plate of syrniki.”

“That’s not entirely reassuring, I hope you realize that,” Georgi deadpanned with an arched brow and takes the coffee from Victor’s other hand. Victor just smiles and turns to let Georgi eat his late breakfast in peace.

“I’ll see you later, Gosha,” Victor sings, and he hears the doors swing shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween y'all! I hope those of you celebrating have a wonderfully spoopy time.  
> Also, I realized that I haven't been imagining it and this story really has surpassed 100 kudos. I purple each and every one of you guys! :3 
> 
> I've been considering changing the summary a little bit, so forewarning on that.  
> And if you happen to spot any typos, I'm uploading this on mobile so forgive my clumsy thumbs.


	6. Buy One Bad Omen, Get a Dozen Cookies for Free!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: features excessive amounts of Thirst.  
> Also, my attempts at formatting.

_April 2019; Bunkyo_

Victor blinks at the apartment building and a little voice at the back of his head (that sounds suspiciously like Mila) asks if he jumped the gun on this one. _Maybe I should’ve called first?_ he wonders. He has no idea what a professor’s schedule is like, for instance if they even get Saturdays off like regular school. And if they do, does Yuuri even take weekends? He could still be holed up in his office at the university putting that sexy brain of his to work.

He wonders if he should call Mila.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He’s not asking Yuuri to marry him (yet) he’s just asking for his help with a case that is turning out to be a huge pain in the ass.

Victor gives himself a little shake and forces himself to step within the building’s proximity and he feels the familiar tickle of Yuuri’s barrier. He lets himself inside and finds the elevator is still out of order so he takes the stairs, which gives him a little more time to get his nerves under control.

When he knocks on the door to apartment 4H, he resists the impulse to rock on the balls on the feet like some sort of awkward antsy bird. He waits a good forty-five seconds and then raises his fist to knock again just as the door swings wide open and it takes every ounce of carefully cultivated self-control not to squeal or melt at the sight of Pajama Day Yuuri, even though he looks so darn soft. His sleep shirt is too big for him and sits lopsidedly on his torso, exposing a collarbone and most of his shoulder, and the trousers he has on have little poodles on them.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, “Um, you’re…here?”

“Yes, um, I’m sorry,” Victor apologizes and forces himself not to fidget, “I really should’ve called first, but I felt this couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t think you’d still be in bed-“

“I wasn’t,” Yuuri blurts, and then looks embarrassed for interrupting Victor, “in bed I mean. I was just,” he gestures awkwardly over his shoulder, “eating breakfast.” Victor blinks and does the math in his head. If Tokyo is seven hours ahead of St. Petersburg, then . . .

“Breakfast?” he says dumbly, “At…two in the afternoon?”

“…yes,” Yuuri says slowly. The silence is long enough to be sufficiently awkward and Victor smiles.

“This dead air between us is a good sign,” he comments and Yuuri starts.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, please come in,” he babbles and steps aside to let Victor inside. Victor notes the shoes lined up somewhat neatly in the entryway and he takes that as a cue to toe his off and nudge them into place next to a pair of well-loved converse. Yuuri shuts the door, muttering under his breath in what is most likely Japanese, and steps around Victor before switching abruptly to English, “Um, did you want anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be lovely,” Victor smiles and Yuuri bobs his head like an adorable slightly awkward penguin before going to fetch it.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he calls from the kitchen, “I don’t usually get visitors so…”

“You’re fine,” Victor waves it off and takes in Yuuri’s apartment. It’s a little smaller than his flat back in St. Petersburg but spacious enough for one professor. There’s a television in the living room set to what looks like a cheesy drama with the volume turned down low. A laptop on the coffee table surrounded by notes and what looks like three open textbooks all annotated and marked with ludicrous amounts of sticky notes. He counts at least six highlighters and four pens all in various colors. There’s a small dining table between the kitchen and the living room, populated by a large mug of tea and the remnants of Yuuri’s breakfast that Victor has interrupted.

Yuuri’s kitchen – however – looks like it’s been magically expanded compared to the rest of the apartment. He has a stove with an oven and a ton of counter space all taken up by boxes of tea, three cookbooks, a rice cooker, a fancy Keurig, a regular coffee machine, and two or three annotated notebooks.

“All I have is Columbian roast,” Yuuri apologizes as he measures out the grounds into a filter, “I hope that’s okay.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste like heaven compared to what I drink regularly,” Victor said, watching Yuuri putter around the kitchen in his house slippers and actively resisting the overwhelming urge to cuddle him. It’s almost domestic, and Victor easily gets sucked into a daydream where he and Yuuri make breakfast together in their pajamas and then snuggle with Makkachin and watch cheap daytime dramas and then –

“Um…. Victor?” Yuuri is staring at him.

“Hm? Yes?” Victor asked.

“Er, do you take cream and sugar?”

“Ah, I do. Thank you,” Victor nods and makes a note to beat his head against the wall later. Yuuri somehow makes it just right and he can’t help the delighted sound that escapes him when he takes a sip and it’s like Yuuri’s magic (because he actually _is_ magic).

“Good?” Yuuri’s turned that delectable shade of pink again and Victor smiles.

“Vkusno,” he confirms.

“So, um, you said there was an emergency?” Yuuri gestures politely for him to sit at the dining table and Victor happily takes a seat across from Yuuri.

“Ah, yes,” Victor said, “I was wondering if you were still willing to offer your help? This case is… growing increasingly complex. We still don’t understand why Ward practitioners are the target’s prey of choice.”

“If you think I could be of help, then I’d be happy to do what I can,” Yuuri inclined his head.

“Wonderful!” Victor clapped his hands, “Let’s get started!”

“Oh. Um…now?” Yuuri asked.

“Well not _right_ now,” Victor amended, “I haven’t finished my coffee yet.”

“Okay, well, um, you go ahead and finish,” Yuuri nodded to the mug, “and I’ll shower and change.” his dishes pick themselves up and disappear into the kitchen while Yuuri shuffles off towards the bathroom, passing by the living area. The mess on the coffee table rearranges itself into something neater and Victor takes a quiet sip of his coffee.

It doesn’t hit him until he hears the bathroom door close that Yuuri will be only several meters away.

Naked.

Naked and wet.

Wet and naked.

Oh, dear gods, he needs to get a grip before his brain melts out of his skull.

 

 

Mila  
  
Help  
  
What???  
  
He's taking a shower  
  
He's naked Mila!!!  
  
????

“ _I’m a boss ass bitch bitch bitch-_ “

He answers before the fourth ‘bitch’.  

“You know, Victor, you really should stick to phone calls,” Mila said, sounding four-hundred percent _done_ , “especially when you send text messages that are entirely out of context.”

“Mila,” Victor whimpers, “he’s showering in the next room.”

“Oh honey,” Mila sighs, “remind me to remind you to drink more water, ‘cause your thirst is out of control. When’s the last time you got laid?” he opens his mouth, “Never mind. I think I know the answer to that.” Victor makes a pitiful noise. “If you’re on anything but your best behavior I’ll break your fingers. You’re a professional dammit.”

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” Victor promised, crossing his heart even though Mila can’t see it, “After, do you think he’ll go to lunch with me if I ask?”

“Maybe, if you say ‘please’,” Mila’s half-laughs and then she pauses, “I’m gonna hang up now, there’s a crisis in the freezer.”

“Crisis?” Victor repeats, “What kind of crisis?” instead of answering Mila hangs up. _Rude_.

Victor sits there and robotically lifts his mug to his lips, wondering what in the hell could’ve happened in the fifteen minutes since he left the office (honestly, his brain has already come up with fifty different scenarios, each one increasingly worse than the last).

“Is everything okay?” Yuuri emerges while rubbing a towel over his hair, “Something about a crisis?”

“Hopefully it’s minor,” Victor laughs nervously and clears his throat, taking a gulp of his coffee. He half-hopes Yuuri didn’t hear anything else. Yuuri’s dressed almost like he’s going to work, much like the day Victor first met him, in a sweater vest over a crisp button up and a neat pair of jeans. He’s so adorably nerdy and soft that Victor is nearly overwhelmed with the urge to cuddle him again.

“I can take that for you, if you’re finished,” Yuuri holds out his hand for the mug.

“Oh no, I should wash it. It’s the least I can do for interrupting your breakfast,” he protests and stands up so fast he nearly knocks over his chair.

“But, you’re my guest,” Yuuri counters and his cinnamon eyes are so big behind his glasses – Victor’s handed over the mug without even realizing it. He stands there for a moment, looking between his empty hand and the space where Yuuri was just standing.

 _This man is dangerous_ , Victor concludes.

They put on their shoes in the entryway and Victor opens a Portal right in front of Yuuri’s door and when they step through they’re greeted with silence. Yakov’s door is firmly shut, Mila is nowhere to be seen, and it’s…not a very good sign.

“Um, where is everybody?” Yuuri asked. Victor remembers Mila mentioning something happening in the freezer and leads Yuuri out of the office, through the HUNTER Department (which is quietly busy, as usual) and to the elevators. “Do you think everything’s okay?” Yuuri asked him on the way down to the Analyst Department.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Victor smiled reassuringly, “if it was something major, my handler would’ve called.”

“Well that’s good news, at least,” Yuuri says.

Mila apprehends them when they’re partway to the freezer and Victor can make out the sound of dreadful wailing behind her in the general direction of Georgi’s lab. “Oh hi! There you are!” she greets them brightly, hooking her strong arms around their shoulders and easily redirecting them back the way they came.

“Um, Mila-?” Victor begins.

“You don’t wanna go in there right now,” she says seriously, “Trust me. I tried everything I could think of.”

Victor sighs, “What was it this time? Did she burn the flowers he brought her?”

“No,” Mila said, unhooking her arms from around their shoulders once they’re out of the analyst department and by the elevators to take them back upstairs, “turns out, Anya already has a boyfriend. Georgi saw them canoodling at Starbucks this morning.”

“'Canoodling'?” Victor asked. 

“His word, not mine,” Mila said, “At least I think he said canoodling. It was hard to tell with all the crying.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he jumped the gun,” Victor muses aloud, “He’s not very lucky in love, is he?”

“You know Georgi. He’ll get over it in a day or two,” Mila said, “Oh, sorry, I’m being rude. Mila Babicheva.” She extends her hand to shake Yuuri’s.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” he says, and her smile becomes a little wicked.

“I know,” she replies. She spread her arms in dramatic welcome when they get back to the office, “Welcome to the European Branch of HUNTER, Dr. Katsuki.”

“Thank you?” Yuuri looks vaguely amused.

“Now, Victor have you briefed him yet?” Mila asked.

“Not yet,” Victor said.

“Oh good,” Mila said, “that means I can participate.”

They start from the beginning and tell Yuuri first about how Rosita Nuñez, a sixty-three-year-old Ward witch living in Andalucía, Spain was murdered in her own backyard. And then after that, thirty-eight-year-old Antoine Beaumont, their Jane Doe estimated to be around sixteen, and then twenty-two-year-old Rinaldo Albini and the discovery of the scorch marks.

“Arianna Durante was the most recent victim,” Mila said, “her finding was reported early yesterday morning by an anonymous caller. The crime scene was completely clean, and like all the other victims she had no visible marks. When our analyst opened her up for the autopsy, all of her organs had been removed.”

“The target’s MO changed a little,” Yuuri murmured, “But the circles didn’t? At all?”

Victor conjures his tablet and pulls up the photos before handing it to Yuuri, “Not that we can see. Frankly, they’re hard to look at-“

The doors to the office slam open and Yuri storms in, “Sorry I’m late,” he barks, not sounding very sorry at all. He looks like he didn’t get much sleep, and he’s wearing a hoodie that’s a tad too big for him over a pair of ostentatious purple skinny jeans. “I’m collecting that meal you owe me, you old fart,” Yuri declares and then does a double-take when he notices Yuuri, “Who the hell is this?”

“Manners, Yura,” Victor sighed, speaking English.

“Um, Dr. Katsuki Yuuri,” Yuuri stood and extended his hand, “nice to meet you.” Yuri just stares at him, glass green eyes boring into the professor who eventually lowers his hand.

“You can’t stay here,” Yuri says in English and Yuuri looks taken aback.

“I…can’t?” he asked.

“There can’t be two Yuris,” Yuri tells him, “I was here first, so-“

“Yura,” Victor sang (warned), “You’re being _very_ rude. And besides, Yuuri is older and technically _he_ was here first. He’s been an Exorcist since before you were born you know?”

“Fine,” Yuri bites out, “Tell me one thing, Imposter Yuri.”

“Uh…okay?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow, looking a little bewildered. 

“How many demons have you killed?” Yuri asked. Yuuri blinks and looks contemplative for a moment.

“I dunno. Ten?” he says finally, and Mila makes an odd noise in the back of her throat. Victor shoots her a questioning look, but she waves him off, patting her chest with the flat of her hand.

“I guess you can stay then,” Yuri says grudgingly then he rounds on Victor, “And _you_ still owe me a goddamn meal, baldy!”

“Yes yes, you’ll be fed soon, Yura,” Victor waves him off, “for now, we’d like to finish briefing Yuuri. Now, as I was saying, the circles are a little hard to look at, which – for me, candidly speaking – is saying something. Of course, this makes them difficult to properly examine.” Yuuri is still holding the tablet and the screen has timed out in the midst of Yuri’s interruption, which means Victor gets to lean in (almost unnecessarily close) to unlock the screen for him.

“These were burned into the flooring underneath each victim, not drawn?” Yuuri asked. He’s frowning and not in a sexy way (okay, it’s a little bit sexy) while he goes through the photos.

“Yep,” Mila confirmed, “The Mundane Relations Department has had a bitch of a time cleaning that shit up.”

“We cross-referenced these photos with everything we could get our hands on. Ran the symbols and everything through the database,” Victor said, “I talked to five different Scribes that specialize in ancient languages and none of them could tell me what these runes meant, or even what language they were in.”

“I’m not surprised. There aren’t that many who can recognize it,” Yuuri murmured, “let alone read it.” They stare at him and he looks up when he feels their eyes on him, nervously adjusting his glasses.

“But _you_ recognize it,” Yuri pointed out, “so what the hell is it?”

“I’m quite sure that it’s Chthonian,” Yuuri answered, adjusting his glasses again.

“Say what now?” Yuri deadpanned.

“Some historical sources claim an ancient Greek sorcerer accidentally opened up a gate into Gehenna and mistook it for the Underworld and called the language they spoke and wrote in Chthonian,” Yuuri continued, “At least, that’s one theory. Bottom line, it’s a demonic language.”

“Well I’ll be gosh-darned,” Yuri affected a horrendous Southern American accent and colored it heavily with sarcasm, “it’s almost like we’re huntin’ - gasp -  a _demon!_ ”

“Yura, I do believe you’re acquiring a flair for the dramatic,” Victor said, beaming proudly.

“Fuck you, baldy. It’s called sarcasm,” Yuri snapped. Yuuri had gone oddly silent, flipping repeatedly through the photos with a contemplative look on his face.

“Dr. Katsuki?” Mila asked.

“Hm?” Yuuri blinked and looked up at her.

“Can you translate the runes?” Mila asked, “Victor said you mentioned having an affinity for languages.” Yuuri glanced at Victor and turned a little pink.

“Er, human languages, mostly,” he corrected, “I can’t read the runes, I just recognized the language.” He had that contemplative look on his face again and he looked at the tablet, “Do you have prints of these? Preferably, larger than this screen?”

The prints are in a manila folder that Mila pulls out of the organized chaos that is her desk, and she holds up her find, “I have them here, but what you need them for?”

“I know someone who can help with these,” Yuuri said, “but I don’t know if your tablets will work outside of Europe.”

The three of them exchange a look and Victor grins.

“Oh, an international field trip! How exciting!” he enthuses.

Of course, Yuri refuses to be left behind and even keeps his mouth shut when Yuuri demonstrates his interesting way of opening Portals. When he taps the air, it _ripples_ like water and the opening yawns into existence. It’s different from the way Victor opens Portals (if you can call ripping a temporary hole in the fabric of space ‘opening’). Before they step through they can smell asphalt and early spring rain.

He can tell they’ve traveled quite a long distance when he steps through, since it’s nighttime here and they’re standing underneath an illuminated streetlamp. It’s nearing eight-fifteen in the morning in Geneva, still bright and sunny and the highways clogged with early morning commuters. Here – wherever here is – is quite sedate, yet he can distantly hear the wail of sirens and the familiar honk of an American fire engine that he’s only ever heard through a television set. A man passes by, walking his two dogs and paying no mind to the group of strangers standing on the sidewalk across the street.

“Well, here we are,” Yuuri announces shakily, looking a little unsteady on his feet and Victor quickly finds his earlier awe turn to worry.

“Are you alright, Yuuri?” he asked and put out a hand to steady him.

“I’m okay,” Yuuri smiles, “I’m just a little out of practice is all. I probably should’ve prepared a little more.”

“Yuuri,” Victor scolds, frowning, “If you needed help, I would’ve happily provided it-“

“Is somebody gonna tell me where the fuck we are?” Yuri loudly interrupts. 

“Chicago,” Mila said, pointing to something just outside their little circle of light that she can see with her impeccable eyes and Victor can barely make out the shape of a trash can. He can’t read anything on it, but he takes Mila’s word for it.

“Chicago? As in United States Chicago?” Yuri said.

“I’m pretty sure there’s only one Chicago, kitten,” Mila said and gets the stink eye in return for her sass.

“Where’s this translator live anyway?” Yuri demands.

“Right here,” Yuuri gestures.

Yuuri points three feet to the left of the street light they’re still standing under at the front gate of a gothic looking house. The porch lights are on and there’s some light filtering through the frosted glass in the door. There’s a garden instead of a lawn and it’s surrounded by a wrought iron fence about waist high, with a little gate that quietly swings open at their approach.

“That’s not creepy at all,” Yuri mutters under his breath. Yuuri pauses with his hand on the gate.

“Um, don’t touch any of the plants okay? Most of them are toxic,” he says and continues up the path.  

Yuri balks and Victor exchanges a look with Mila. Just who is this person that they’re going to see? Victor briefly entertains the (asinine) thought that they’re about to meet one of Yuuri’s former lovers, and then immediately revises that to former colleague. Perhaps a close friend?

The front door swings open silently just like the front gate to let them in once they’re standing on the porch and music pours out into the otherwise quiet evening.

“… _one thousand tired people all scattered like rats, and there’s a drunk man sleeping in a pile of trash_ …”

The entryway is quite open and spacious, their footsteps softened by the large Persian rug laid out on the polished wooden floor. There’s a staircase a little way off to the right leading upstairs, and a huge grandfather clock to the left next to one set of double doors. There’s another set of doors at the far end of the entryway.

“Does anyone smell cookies?” Yuri asked. Victor takes a moment to properly take in the homey aroma filling the room and there are nods of agreement.

Yuuri leads them to the second set of double doors and he knocks. The invitation to enter is barely heard over the music but Yuuri does hear it and he opens the doors.

It looks like the room has been magically expanded to accommodate the enormous collection of books that are chaotically organized. There’s a towering bookshelf that covers the far wall with its shelves mostly filled, though there are pockmarks in places where books have been removed. The circle of comfy looking couches in the center of the room have been partially taken over by books and the large desk up against the front window is dominated by three monitors and what looks like pages of notes. Amidst the chaos is a sound system, a full body skeleton, and – oddly enough – a red vintage Cadillac with the hood popped open, partially blocked from view by the couches.

“Er… _sensei_?” Yuuri calls out into the room.

The music peters out and they hear a grunt followed by shuffling. A dark-haired girl stood up from behind the couches and Victor finds his eyes lingering on her t-shirt featuring an intensely grumpy-looking cat with text that says, ‘I had fun once…it was AWFUL’ (he immediately knows what he’s getting Yuri for Christmas). “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” she says, wiping her hands off on her jeans, “Yuuri Katsuki deigns to grace me with his presence.”

Yuuri tries to smile but it looks more like a grimace, “I know I should’ve called,” he apologizes.

“You’re lucky the house likes you,” she said, coming up to him and punching him in the shoulder making him wince, “ _That’s_ for disappearing off the face of the planet.”

“ _Gomen na_ , _sensei,_ ” Yuuri murmured, bowing his head and looking so contrite that Victor nearly consoled him right there in the middle of the study.

“Now, who’s this?” she turned to look at them all and Victor can more clearly see the scar bisecting her clouded left eye from her eyebrow to the top of her cheek, “New friends?”

“This is Victor, Yuri, and Mila, they’re from HUNTER. European Branch,” Yuuri said, “I’m, um, helping them with a case. Um, this is Dr. Jade Bones.”

“Charmed,” Dr. Bones drolled. The doors to the study open to admit a tall man in a frilly purple apron holding a large tray with a platter of cookies and a pitcher of milk.

“Oh, I thought I heard the front door,” he says, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline while he looks over them all and his gaze lingers on Mila for a second – like recognizing like most likely (it’s a vampire thing) – and then he spots Yuuri and he smiles, “Well there’s a face I haven’t seen in a long time. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Hi Celestino,” Yuuri looks a little sheepish, “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good,” Celestino says, “You look well, if a bit thin. Here, have a cookie.” Yuuri mutters something unintelligible in Japanese but nibbles on the cookie that’s been shoved into his hand anyway. Celestino takes the liberty of handing out cookies to everyone while he’s at it. “Oh, I’ll have to go get glasses for the milk,” he says, “Everyone please enjoy!” Yuri helps himself a second and third cookie before he’s even halfway through his first.

“He’s…livelier than the last time I saw him,” Yuuri comments when Celestino’s disappeared from the study.

“He took a sabbatical a couple of years after you retired. Said he needed a rest,” Dr. Bones says, snatching the manila folder from Yuuri’s hands on the way past him to get another cookie from the platter, “Now, this is why you came to see me, yes?”

“We were hoping you could interpret these for us,” Victor says, “The database wasn’t entirely helpful when we tried running the images through our cross-referencing system.” Dr. Bones flips the folder open and her expression becomes shuttered. Celestino comes in with glasses for the milk and slips back out after noticing the turn the atmosphere has taken, quietly promising Yuuri that they can catch up later.

“How many victims have there been in total?” Dr. Bones asked grimly.

“Five,” Mila answered.

“Mm,” Dr. Bones murmured, she flips through the rest of the photos, “These circles are…unusual.”

“Aren’t they?” Yuuri agreed, standing beside her so they can inspect the photos together, “I thought that the configurations might be in a new style but then they would’ve come up in the Archives. And there’s no anchor here.” he points at something.

“It also looks like,” Dr. Bones said slowly, “they tried to combine Alchemy with traditional witchcraft. I don’t blame you for not recognizing the more geometric patterns. Alchemy was banned long before you were born.”

“Well, hell!” Mila exclaims, “No wonder we didn’t get any hits when we ran it through the Archives! All sources on Alchemy were purged decades ago.” Yuri makes a sound around the cookies he has stuffed in his mouth.

“Yura, English please,” Victor said, and Yuri took a moment to finish chewing before he swallowed. Victor looks down at the cookie he’s still holding and takes a bite. It’s quite delightful, just the right balance of crunch with soft gooey chocolateyness. He’s never been much for baking, but now he’s considering getting the recipe, so he can try.

“I _said_ , why the hell would anyone want to do that? It just makes everything needlessly complicated doesn’t it?” he said.

“There are certainly easier ways to steal magic,” Victor agreed around a bite of cookie, “But, this target is meticulous. It wants every single drop of magic it can get from its victims. Which would explain why more than one organ was missing from the latest.”

“Tissue and blood samples have always been the best way to harness power from another individual,” Dr. Bones interjected, “The extraction matrix by itself wouldn’t be of much use without the elements of sorcery there. You need magic to steal magic.”

Yuri grabbed a fourth cookie and shoved it in his mouth.

“The runes themselves are just instructions,” she continued, “but the fact that they’ve appeared at all is a bad sign.”

“I feel like this is an important milestone for us,” Mila half-joked, “An omen of impending doom is a big deal.” Dr. Bones stared at Mila for a beat or two.

“I like you,” she said, then looked at Yuuri, “Bring her next time you visit. We’ll all go bowling.”

“Um, sure,” Yuuri blinked and glanced at Mila who gave him a thumbs-up.

Vaguely grim news aside, Victor considers the visit a productive one even if Dr. Bones looked reluctant to say much more than she did regarding the runes and he wonders if they’re missing something else.

“Can we _please_ go get something more substantial to eat?” Yuri grumbles, standing in the middle of the stone path.

“You just ate a fuckton of cookies,” Mila pointed out.

“I’m a growing boy,” Yuri snaps.

“Have some patience, Yura,” Victor says, leisurely walking down the front steps to join his companions in the front garden. It’s more fragrant than it was when they came in, a subtle aroma that’s quite pleasant. Victor wonders what kind of life Yuuri led before he settled down as a biology professor.

“Where’s the imposter?” Yuri gestures behind him.

“He’s talking to Dr. Bones,” Victor answers, “Making plans to go bowling, I assume.”

“I like her,” Mila muses, looking past Victor at the house, “she seems interesting.” Victor smiles a little mischievously.

“I think she likes you too,” he nudges her, and Mila looks contemplative.

“Fucking disgusting,” Yuri muttered and crossed his arms. Mila and Victor exchange fond looks, undoubtedly thinking the same thing: that one day, Yuri will grow up and fall in love and they can give him a ton of shit for it.

The front door opens, bathing the garden in warm light from the inside of the house and Yuuri steps outside.

“Finally!” Yuri exclaims, “I’m fucking starving.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to keep you all waiting,” Yuuri apologizes.

“Don’t listen to Yura, he’s exaggerating,” Mila said, "and he's hangry."

“If you’re hungry I know a great place not too far from here,” Yuuri said.

They end up at a little restaurant downtown that Yuuri cites as a favorite of his that serves Chicago style pizza and the smells remind Victor that he left home without eating breakfast again. It’s relatively busy (“Oh yeah, it’s still Friday here,” Yuuri realized) when they get there but one of the staff recognizes Yuuri and gets them a table in record time. Victor immediately takes the spot next to Yuuri (who promptly turns an adorable shade of pink), leaving Mila and Yuri to take up the other side of the booth.

“Why is American food so weird?” Yuri asked, inspecting the pictures on the menu.

“Because the Americans that make it are weird,” Mila said, then proceeds to lament that there’s hardly anything on the menu not covered in cheese. When the waitress comes by, Mila orders garlic knots (“No cheese,” she specified, “At all.”

“Highly lactose intolerant,” Victor helpfully added, and the waitress looked mostly unimpressed.).

Yuri still puts away most of the deep-dish pizza, which makes a nearby waitress sigh in envy of his incredible metabolism. Victor pays for the meal despite Yuuri’s protests.

“Shut up,” Yuri said without his usual vitriol, “he owed me a meal anyway. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have money. All he ever does is work.”

Of course, the brief respite during lunch is over when they get back to the office and Yakov is clearly on the prowl. He’s already in a foul mood; his bushy eyebrows are furrowed and look like one giant caterpillar sitting at the base of his ever-growing forehead, and his frown-lines are heavily defined by the intense scowl on his face.

“Brace yourself,” Mila sings under her breath just as Yakov starts to unload and Victor is half-tempted to just tune him out until he runs out of steam and eventually has to go sit down.

“In case it’s slipped your minds, we’ve got a fifth victim taking up room in the freezer downstairs!” he shouts, “I don’t know where you’ve been for the whole morning, but it damn well have better been for something productive!” he looks like he’s about to continue but then – and Victor spots the exact moment like it’s all in slow motion – he spots Yuuri. His face turns pink, and then darkens to red, and then further to a rather alarming shade of purple. If he was upset before he’s practically _apoplectic_ now. Yakov starts to direct his new tirade directly at Victor, and Victor – being the wonderful subordinate he is – immediately tunes him out.

Behind him, Yuuri watches this all unfold with wide eyes and he quietly asks Mila if he should leave. In response, she clings to him and says not to worry about Yakov and that he’ll come around (eventually).

“DO YOU HEAR ME, NIKIFOROV?!” Yakov screams and Victor blinks.

“I’m sorry, what?” he says and Yakov is beginning to turn purple again.

“You deliberately disobeyed me,” Yakov is starting to go audibly hoarse, his screaming quota just about used up for the week.

“Well, yes,” Victor agreed, only leaving out the ‘duh’ so that Yakov doesn’t actually have a hernia, “You left me no choice, Yakov. It’s only because of Yuuri we managed to get anything done at all today. If you force him to leave, you may as well make room in the freezer for a sixth victim.”

“Is that so?” Yakov asked lowly, his eyes flicking to the young professor who still had Mila clinging to his arm, “And you just decided you were going to force my hand on this?”

“As soon as you said the word ‘no’,” Victor confirmed coolly, meeting Yakov’s eyes unflinchingly. Yakov’s expression twitched and then he sighed.

“I’ll see that the paperwork makes it to Lilia by tonight,” Yakov said, “I expect to see results.” He gives them all pointed looks before he stalks back into his office and shuts the door.

“Well,” Yuri says flatly, “that went well.”

“I half-expected him to start shouting some more,” Mila agreed.

“Um, could you let go of my arm? I think you’re cutting off my circulation,” Yuuri asked weakly.

“Oops, sorry,” Mila abruptly let go and gave his shoulder a light pat.

“Wait,” Yuri says and rounds on the professor, “you can speak Russian? Since when?”

“Um, are you asking when I learned or…?” Yuuri asked, cringing away from the teenager who’s basically yelling in his ear.

“Yura, there’s no need to shout,” Victor chastises patiently, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.

“I’m asking why we’ve been speaking English this whole time, you shit!” Yuri growls.

“Well, Victor was speaking English,” Yuuri explained weakly, “I just, kind of, went with it?” Yuri stares at him for a beat or two.

“Oh my god, he is literally a cinnamon roll,” Mila muttered aside to Victor. Yuri rounds on the two of them.

“Why aren’t you assholes surprised?” he demands.

“Um, because I read his file?” Mila said.

“I just assumed Yuuri spoke all sorts of languages,” Victor said brightly, “he _is_ super smart, after all.” Yuuri blushes at the praise. For a moment Yuri just stands there with his eye twitching.

“I hate you,” he says pointing to Mila, then his arm swivels to point at Victor, “You, you’re fucking disgusting,” and then finally, he points to Yuuri, “and you’re a fucking nerd.”

The teenager stalks away to go sit at ‘his’ desk, tugging down the sleeves of his too-big hoodie as he goes, and Victor absently makes a note to confront him later. But, for now, someone needs to check on Georgi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, spot the Pitch Perfect reference anybody?
> 
> I partially based the layout of Dr. Bones's house on the house from The House with a Clock in its Walls (the movie, not the book). We might be seeing more of Celestino and Jade in the future. 
> 
> Also, might I just say how surprised I am at all the positive feedback I've gotten so far?? All of you are so nice and so wonderful and I feel so bad for not having the time to reply to all of your wonderful comments T.T. But just know that I do read them and your support gives me the warm fuzzies. :3


	7. Apparently, 'C' is for Cage Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied/referenced self-harm

_April 2019; European Branch Headquarters – Geneva_

Yuri is banging around in the break room just down the hall from the office and making a lot of unnecessary noise when Victor walks in. He doesn’t even notice Victor’s even there, and he continues to grumble to himself about coffee in gruff Russian that almost reminds Victor of that one troll that used to live under the Trinity Bridge (he got evicted by the local NPs for loitering. There was an awful lot of biting involved).

So, Victor is easily able to approach Yuri and seize his arm, draped in a too-long sleeve from that awful too-large hoodie he’s been wearing since yesterday. Yuri jumps and immediately tries to punch Victor in the ribs (easily deflected, of course).

“Let go, you old fart,” Yuri hisses, trying to pull his arm from Victor’s firm grip. Instead of letting him go, Victor transfers Yuri’s wrist to his other hand and uses his free one to work Yuri’s sleeve up to his elbow. The bruises aren’t more than two days old and they stand out against Yuri’s pale pale skin. Each one is the size of a quarter and they travel along the length of Yuri’s arm, following the radial artery all the way down to the meat of his thumb. “It’s none of your _fucking_ business,” Yuri growls, twisting his arm out of Victor’s grip and working his sleeve back down.

“I beg to differ, Yura,” Victor disagrees, “Even if you’re not an official member of the Agency, you still act as a member of this team, which makes you my responsibility.”

“Fuck you,” Yuri spat, “you’re not my father.”

“No, I’m not,” Victor agrees, “but I don’t think this is what your father would’ve wanted.” The smell of ozone fills the room and Yuri’s hair begins to stand on end as the static in the room suddenly jumps to enormous levels, “I know you want to pass the exam, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

“What the fuck do _you_ know about it?” Yuri spat, clutching at his arm, “You didn’t even have to _try_ to pass. Not all of us are born into elite families who train them from the moment they’re born.” Victor blinks in shock that Yuri would resort to pot shots and can’t help but feel…disappointed? “You can either help me get what I want, or you can stay the fuck out of my way,” Yuri snapped and shoved his way past Victor and out of the break room.

Victor stands there in silence for a moment frowning after the teenager before going back to the office, his argument with Yuri momentarily forgotten when he sees Yuuri’s arrived and making notes on the large whiteboard situated between Victor and Mila’s desks. His hair looks windswept and he’s wearing a cute bowtie that goes well with his button down. “Oh, hi Victor,” he smiles, and Victor can’t help the smile he gives in response.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor says, “How are you today?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” Yuuri replies.

“Much better now,” Victor gives him a wink and Yuuri’s eyes sparkle with laughter. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Where’s the kitten with my coffee?” Mila asked, swiveling around in her chair and nibbling on a Dorito. She looks particularly radiant this late Sunday morning – her cheeks have some color and her eyes look brighter – which means she recently fed. In contrast Georgi is _still_ sitting at his desk, wearing the most drab and unflattering sweats Victor has ever had the misfortune of setting his eyes upon, and staring forlornly into a murky cup of shitty cold coffee. After a morning of this, Victor is quite sure he prefers the Georgi from yesterday, who’d been sitting in the middle of a breakroom down in the Analyst Department sobbing into a magically enlarged tub of expired Nutella when they finally went to go check on him.

“Beats me,” Victor shrugged and doesn’t bring up the argument he just had with their angry intern. But Mila gives him a look that suggests she heard the yelling and promises to talk. Victor pointedly looks away and looks instead at Yuuri’s butt.

 _He could kill a man with those thighs_ , Victor observes, _He probably has_. Mila let out a loud pointed cough and rolls her eyes at him when he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed for blatantly checking out their consultant.

“I was just telling Dr. Katsuki here, that I pulled all the CCTV footage I could get surrounding Arianna’s building,” Mila said, flipping a pen between her fingers, “Then I realized: newer building on a university campus means more security which means more cameras.” Victor picks up the apple he’d set next to his keyboard earlier and takes a large bite. “Unfortunately, the university hired a third-party to handle and store all their security footage. Getting past their firewall is taking me longer than I thought.”

“How long will it take you to access the footage?” Victor asked after he finished chewing.

“At this rate? Maybe twenty minutes,” Mila grumbled. Yuuri straightened after finishing his notes.

“Victor, do you know if the target summons the circle before or after the victims are immobilized?” Yuuri asked and Victor blinks. He can clearly imagine the shadow reaching out and catching the young Miss Durante in an invisible grip, manipulating her airborne body like a puppet attached to strings.

“After,” he answers and takes another bite of his apple.

“Hmm,” Yuuri holds up a drawing of the circle he’s done on a sheet of white printer paper in black pen, but he hasn’t drawn out the runes, instead he put ‘X’s in their place and Victor finds this version is a lot easier to look at. _So, it was the runes that offended my gaze_ , he thinks. “Jade- _sensei_ and I both noticed that the entire matrix doesn’t have an anchor. Usually, there would be one here. Like, a symbol or maybe something material.” Victor straightens and stands from his chair, taking his apple with him as he circled his desk to stand next to Yuuri. “But, instead, there’s a body,” Yuuri finished.  

“It’s not unheard of,” Victor said, “to use a human body as a medium. It’s more common amongst Dark practitioners. And what we’re dealing with here is very Dark.” He pauses, looking at one of the prints that’s been pinned at the edge of the board and suddenly one of those useless lessons from school that he’d thought he’d purposefully forgotten resurfaces, “Yuuri, you’ve heard of chakras, right?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nods.

“I haven’t,” Mila volunteers from behind them, “’cause, y’know, I’m not a wizard or anything.”

“Chakras are critical energy points in the body,” Yuuri explained, “where your energy is supposed to make contact with that of the infinite cosmos.”

“Basically, points of energy flow,” Victor added, “Magical theorists have been debating on whether there are seven or five, but that’s besides the point, the point is that there’s a chakra here,” he points to his stomach, “typically called the ‘Sea of Chi’, or the second magical core if you’re a modernist.”

“I just call it ‘the beast’,” Mila said, “but that’s just me.”

“The way he positions the victims…it’s always at the center where the anchor is supposed to be,” Yuuri finishes.

“Great, so that’s one mystery, taken care of,” Mila says, “That doesn’t give us motive for the summoner, or tell us what the hell all this magic is being gathered for.”

“Why does anybody summon demons?” Yuuri mused, “To seek power, right?”  

Victor’s phone starts to ring, and he has to awkwardly reach around himself with the hand not currently holding his mostly eaten apple to fish his phone out of his back pocket. The phone number is unfamiliar and has an Italian area code. He frowns and swipes his thumb across the screen, “Ciao?”

“My my, _mon cher_ , I half-expected you not to pick up,” the caller says silkily. It takes Victor a beat or two to put a face to the voice.

“As I live and breathe,” he half-laughs, “Chris?”

Yuuri and Mila have stopped talking to look at him. Mila slowly puts a Dorito into her mouth and crunches it as she listens.

“The one and only, _mon cher_ ,” Chris confirms sounding quite amused, “I wish our reunion was happening under better circumstances, Victor, but if it’s possible I’d like to speak to you in person.” Victor hasn’t seen Chris in almost thirty years, but he sounds exactly the same, if uncharacteristically serious.

“I might have to take a rain check,” Victor says apologetically, “I’m working on a case right now.”

“I know,” Chris said, “This has something to do with it.”

“Alright,” Victor replied, “I’ll come to you.”  

“Lunam,” Mila says when the call ends, “A popular nightclub in downtown Florence.” She holds up her tablet, where a map is taking up the screen and there’s a little bubble pinpointing the address that he was just given.

“Who wants to go on a field trip?” he asks the room. Georgi sniffles dejectedly which Victor understands to be a ‘no’.

“I can’t,” Mila said, swiveling around in her chair again while fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube, “I’ve got to keep an eye on this.” he doesn’t know if she means the depressed lump that is their analyst or her computer.

“Yuuri?” he asked, finally and Yuuri straightens from where he’d been making extra notes on the board.

“Um, sure. I can go with you,” he says, “I’m not sure if I’d be of much use.”

“Always helps to have a polyglot handy,” Victor winks.

**~ T ~**

Victor’s Portal lets out into the smelly alleyway behind the nightclub. He’s willing to bet that there’s been a murder here at one point or another, or at least a body dump. They head around the side of the building to a door that says, ‘Staff Entrance’ and Victor raps sharply on the door. It takes a moment before a beefy man – one of the bouncers most likely – answers the door, and his eyes narrow when he sees the department emblem on the sleeve of Victor’s jacket. “Chris is expecting us,” Victor says with a smile.

The bouncer steps aside to let them in, eyeballing the two of them with the utmost scrutiny. Victor follows his ears towards the sound of clinking bottles, music, and inane chatter to where a few staff are restocking the bar, sanitizing the poles, and cleaning the cages that have been lowered to the dance floor. Chris is standing on the customer side of the bar, counting all the cash from the register, dressed comfortably in a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a deep green V-neck. “You got here quick,” Chris comments in English, continuing to count the money.

“I figured it sounded important,” Victor replied. Chris sets aside a few piles of smaller bills to put back in the register before tucking the rest into a bag and pinching it shut. He tells the bartender in sweet Italian to take a break from counting bottles of vodka to load the change into the register for tomorrow’s opening and then he turns to give Victor and Yuuri his attention.

“Well well well,” Chris smiles, “It’s been a long time, _Yuu_ ri.” The way he says the professor’s given name is heavy with innuendo.

“Hi Chris,” Yuuri returns Chris’s smile but its polite, “it has been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Victor gestures between them and Chris’s smile gets impossibly more wicked and Victor’s curiosity could kill a thousand cats.

“We’ve got an awful lot of catching up to do,” Chris says, and it’s directed at both of them, but when he steps forward it’s to hug Victor first, “How’ve you been Victor? I was wondering what happened to you. You’re all grown up now.” Chris steps back to eye him appreciatively, “Well, physically, at least.”

“I got arrested,” Victor said bluntly with a shrug.

“I just thought you changed your number,” Chris replied and takes a good look at the jacket he’s wearing, “Ran off and became an Exorcist. Who would’ve thought?” he clicks his tongue and then winks at Yuuri which is all the warning the professor gets before Christophe slings an arm across his shoulders, “And what are _you_ doing running around with a naughty Warlock like Victor? I heard you retired.”

“I’m, um, a consultant for the Heretic Case,” Yuuri said.

“Really now?” Chris grins over Yuuri’s head at Victor who’s giving him a warning look, “We _must_ go out for drinks when all this ugliness is over. I wanna hear _all_ the dirt.”

Yuuri scrunches his nose at that, “I dunno Chris. You know how I get when I drink.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Chris chuckled and unwinds his arm from around Yuuri. “Now, let’s take this up to my office, shall we?”

Chris has a private elevator that leads up to his office and is the only official entrance and exit. Victor suppresses a snort of amusement because Chris definitely hasn’t changed. The office is all purple silk, black leather, and glittery accents. There’s a young girl sitting on one of the leather couches, her blue-raspberry hair is gathered sloppily in a ponytail at the base of her skull and there’s a pallor to her skin that suggests she hasn’t been feeding properly. Her eyes look a little tear swollen and she’s holding a crumpled-up tissue.  

“This is Elisa,” Chris introduces them, “she’s an employee here. Elisa, this is Victor and Yuuri. They’re friends of mine from the Agency. You can trust them.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Elisa murmurs in well-practiced but stilted English, and makes no moves to shake their hands, her fingers knotted together and her sad eyes downcast, “I-I’m a…friend…of Arianna’s.”

“You were the one who reported her murder?” Victor asked in Italian and she bobbed her head.

“Sì,” she answers quietly.

“Could you tell us what happened the night you found her?” Yuuri asked softly, taking a seat on the couch just across from where she’s sitting. Elisa sniffles and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“We were going to hang out after work. Have a little date night before finals,” she answered after a moment, “I stayed behind to help clean up, and sent her on ahead so she could eat. She hadn’t eaten all day.”

“Arianna was one of my dancers,” Chris interjected, “a regular favorite. Very talented.”

“I…I told her I would be there around three,” Elisa continued, her eyes distant and her voice thick, “I should have…if I’d come sooner, then maybe…”

“None of this was your fault,” Yuuri tells her, “And I know it doesn’t feel like it, right now. But, she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for what happened to her, okay?”

Elisa blots at her eyes with the increasingly ratty tissue clenched in her fingers and Victor conjures a fresh box of tissues and passes it to her. Her bright red tears bleed into the white of the new Kleenex and look almost like tiny flowers. “I loved her very much,” Elisa whispers, “that someone would do this…it horrifies me.”

“Why didn’t you stay to make a statement when you found her?” Victor asked.

“Relationships between my kind, and those with magic are still frowned upon here,” Elisa says after a beat or two, “And…there were no marks on her. I thought, if I stayed, they would have immediately blamed me and I couldn’t-I couldn’t bear the thought of someone thinking that I’d been the one to…” she shook her head, looking mildly sick. Victor refrains from making a comment on her age, his filter making a surprise appearance. She’s clearly quite young, based on the blood concentration in her tears, and she obviously knows that the case would not have been in her favor – at least, not without the scorch marks.

“Did you notice any suspicious characters hanging around within the last few weeks?” Victor asked softly, “Did she have any stalkers or unwanted admirers?” Elisa shrugged.

“This is a nightclub, signor,” she said, lifting her tear-stained face to look at them, “we get all sorts of creeps who think that they can put their hands wherever they want just because they’re paying customers. And Arianna was very popular. There was some new idiot declaring his love for her every month.” Victor’s gaze flicks to Chris for a moment, briefly taking in his shuttered expression and knows as jovial as he is – as he sometimes _appears_ to be – that he is not at all happy with the recent turn of events.

“So, there wasn’t anybody who stood out? Anybody that made her feel particularly uncomfortable?” Victor prodded, and Elisa paused.

“There was this one guy,” Elisa said slowly, “a recent regular. He showed up maybe three weeks ago? He stood out to Ari, because usually the ones that give her big tips want… _privileges_ ,” her lip curls a little at the word, “They ask for a private dance, or maybe a date, but this one…he just _stared_ at her. He never talked or asked her for anything. He would order one drink and just watch. All night.”  

“Stared how?” Yuuri asked.

“She said it felt like – it was like she was meat,” Elisa frowned, and she looks up at them, “You think _he_ was the one did this?”

“It’s a possibility,” Yuuri said diplomatically. It could just be a coincidence, but Victor doesn’t think so (and he thinks Yuuri feels the same). A new very rich admirer with a (admittedly) creepy behavior pattern. What kind of rich well-dressed man doesn’t at least attempt to _talk_ to a pretty girl that he likes? Most of the rich assholes Victor’s met think they’re God’s gift to women; that forking over enough cash immediately entitles them to whatever they want. But, Victor has a feeling that they’ve finally hit the motherload. Their target had done an excellent job of staking out each victim and going for the kill without leaving any witnesses. Now that they have a description, it’ll be like catching fish in a barrel (hopefully).

“Can you describe him for us?” Victor asked, taking a seat on the arm of the couch next to where Yuuri’s sitting.

“Tall,” she said, “dark hair with a beard. Always nicely dressed. I remember, Ari said he had different colored eyes. One very dark and the other one light.” Victor exchanged a look with Yuuri and he does his best to contain his growing excitement in front of the witness. “I hope you catch him,” Elisa says, and there’s a fierce glint that briefly overshadows the grief in her eyes, “and that you give him _worse_ than hell.”

“We’ll get justice for Arianna,” Victor promises and Elisa swallows hard.

“Good,” she said thickly, “She didn’t-she didn’t deserve this.” The sight of bright red welling in her eyes is almost alarming, and her tears spill down her cheeks in a moderately horrifying waterfall. Next to him, it’s Yuuri’s turn to conjure a box of tissues and he’s visibly flustered while he dabs at the young vampire’s face. 

“You keep cameras in this place, don’t you?” Victor later asks Chris, looking around. They’re discreet without any lights to indicate that they’re recording, and they’re painted to blend in with the walls. He spots two pointed at the bar from the customer’s side and another two have good views of the cash register.

“I can pull the footage,” Chris says, “Though I can’t guarantee it’ll be useful. It gets packed in here most nights, even more so on the weekends.”

“I’m glad your business is so successful,” Victor said, “but right now, I’m kind of wishing it wasn’t.”

Victor looks over at Yuuri who’s checking out the cages that have been lowered from the ceiling.

“Do you like them?” Chris asked, his voice carrying over to the professor.

“The mirrored bottoms are new,” Yuuri said, “Did you have these specially made?”

“I did,” Chris says, and his smile is a little sly, “Don’t you want to ask what inspired me?”

Yuuri turns bright red, “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Chris laughs and disappears to go get the footage, leaving Victor standing there with a ton of questions and so very few answers.

Could be speculate? Probably.

Does he want to? It’s not as fun as wheedling the answers out of Chris, which he will. Later though since there’s work to be done.

Chris comes back with a CD in a paper sleeve and hands it over, “Here you are, _mon cher_. I hope it’s helpful.”

“ _Merci_ ,” Victor says, taking it between his fingers and it vanishes with a flick. No doubt, it’ll surprise Mila (or Georgi) a little bit but the message will get across all the same when it lands on one of their desks.   

“We appreciate your help, Chris,” Yuuri adds, wandering back over from where he’d been inspecting the cages.

“Of course, _mon petit chou_ ,” Chris winks, “And do catch him soon, so we can celebrate. I look forward to our next chat.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and there’s a hint of steel there that means Chris is undoubtedly up to no good.

They leave the club with promises to definitely have drinks when all the madness has died down and Victor’s phone dings with a notification.

 

 

 

Mila  
  
Didn't we just have a conversation about warning a bitch?  
  
Pick up Starbucks on your way back.

“We’re being sent on a coffee run,” Victor announces, and puts his phone away before looking at Yuuri who’s staring at the staff entrance to the club with a contemplative look on his face, “Yuuri?”

“Hm?” Yuuri blinks.

“Shall we?” Victor gestures forward and Yuuri nods.

As per Mila’s request, they visit the Starbucks that isn’t too far from headquarters before they head back to the office. It’s busy for Sunday, especially this early on in the afternoon – hell, it’s _barely_ after noon. They join the queue and Victor taps his chin, wondering if he should get Georgi a Cherry Blossom Frappuccino (which might send him off into another crying jag) or just an iced Americano. He lets Yuuri put in his order first and before he can reach for his wallet, Victor steps up, rattles off three more orders and hands over enough cash to cover it.

“That was sneaky,” Yuuri comments with narrow eyes when they step aside to wait for their drinks.

“What was sneaky?” Victor says guilelessly, the dictionary definition of innocence.

“That,” Yuuri gestures to the register. Victor blinks at him, follows his finger and then looks at Yuuri.

“I don’t get it,” he says.

“Victor,” Yuuri sighs, “I can pay for my own coffee.”

“Yes,” Victor agrees slowly, wondering why it feels like he’s walking on eggshells all of a sudden. He’s wondering if buying things for Yuuri makes him feel uncomfortable, which would make taking him on dates and spoiling him rotten very difficult…if the man even agreed to date Victor that is.

“Victor-“ Yuuri starts again.

“Consider it a ‘welcome to the team’,” Victor interrupts hurriedly, trying to suppress the odd feeling in his stomach (is it panic? It’s definitely panic. He doesn’t know why he’s panicking), “we take turns treating each other to coffee. If it makes you feel any better, you can buy on the next run, da?” Yuuri gives him a searching look, playfully suspicious and Victor smiles.

“Fine,” Yuuri concedes, “and no tricks. Next time I’m definitely buying.”

He feels he’s averted a crisis and something inside him flops over in weak-kneed relief, though Yuuri is still quiet when they leave with the drinks in hand. He has that contemplative frown on his face again from earlier.

“Are you worried about Chris?” Victor asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Yuuri looks a little sheepish and Victor smiled gently.

“A lucky guess,” he says, “Chris is…unusual among his kind. I’m sure you know this.”

“I just think he’ll try and get involved,” Yuuri sighed, “I know he’s not usually a meddler, but he can be a bit…protective, y’know?” Victor blinks and goes quiet, because he _doesn’t_ know. Chris? Protective?

“Victor,” Yuuri says, when they’re a block away from the coffee shop, but still a good ten minutes’ walk from the hidden entrance to European Branch Headquarters.

“Mm?” Victor replies, his straw in his mouth while taking greedy sips of the first decent coffee he’s had since yesterday.

“Um, is Little Yuri part of your team?” he continues, “I was just wondering. He seems a little young, is all.” Victor nearly snorts coffee through his nose.

“’Little Yuri’,” Victor chuckles, “don’t let him hear you call him that. He’s not an official team member no. He just turned seventeen in March so he’s too young. We call him an intern.”

“Then…your team is just the three of you?” Yuuri was starting to sound genuinely concerned, bordering on alarm, “Georgi, Mila, and yourself?”

“Is there…something _wrong_ with my team?” Victor blinked, tilting his head and trying not to sound offended (and failing).

“It’s too small,” Yuuri said, getting straight to the point and making Victor blink, “HUNTER Units are supposed to comprise of six members or more. You’re dangerously shorthanded.”

“Ah,” Victor murmurs and sips quietly at his coffee, “Well, you see…my team and I haven’t been a Unit for more than a year. This is…sort of a test run, for us.” Yuuri’s cinnamon eyes are wide with something bordering on horror behind his glasses and Victor doesn’t like seeing that look on his face. Especially directed at him, like Victor’s just told the professor he enjoys setting puppies on fire in his free time.

“Victor,” Yuuri says slowly, “I don’t mean to overstep but…all of this, doesn’t seem right. A short-staffed rookie team on a case like this? It’s almost like someone’s trying to sabotage you.”

“Politics,” Victor laughed airily, “It’s a bitch.”

He notes that Yuuri waited until they were outside of professional company to talk about his concerns. It could mean that Yuuri is suspicious of the goings on at the EBHQ, it could mean that Yuuri trusts Victor enough to talk about his feelings. It definitely means Yuuri understands the danger here, and Victor can’t say he’s surprised at that.

“Victor,” Yuuri says firmly, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk and thank goodness that there’s hardly anybody on the street.

“You understand then, why we need your help,” Victor says, turning to look at him, the ice in Mila’s coffee is starting to melt, and he can feel the condensation building on his fingers, “And we’ll all understand if you decide that this isn’t for you. It’s like you said, we’re short on manpower, and because of that we can’t really guarantee your safety.” It’s Yuuri’s turn to look offended and he walks up to Victor to stand practically chest to chest and Victor’s trying very _very_ hard not to let his brain go straight into – too late. His grip tightens minutely on the drinks in his hands. The professor is only a half head shorter than Victor, and he can already see that it wouldn’t take much. He could tilt Yuuri’s chin up or he could angle himself down a little and -

“There is no one here that is running scared, Agent Nikiforov,” Yuuri says lowly, the dangerous edge in his voice and the flash of magic behind his eyes sends a thrill down Victor’s spine, “I said I would help, and I’m going to see this through.” Of course, Victor’s imagination is rolling in multitudes of filth and he’s trying so very hard not to get an erection.

 _Don’t you_ dare _, Nikiforov_ , he thinks, _Getting excited over something like this? You’re supposed to be a professional-_  

“Glad to have you with us, then, Dr. Katsuki,” Victor smiles.

Yuuri gives him that set-jawed determined look and turns to walk ahead. The temptation to check him out is all too real and Victor finds himself – once again – a slave to his impulses. Though, in his defense, it is a _very_ nice ass.

“Yes,” Mila cheers when they arrive back at the breakroom and gratefully takes the coffee like Victor’s offering her the Elixir of Life. Georgi is lying face-down on his desk, his earlier cup of coffee abandoned and Yuuri gingerly sets down the Americano next to Georgi’s head. “Ugh, I was this close to drinking _that_ ,” she points a cursory finger at the sludge still sitting on Georgi’s desk that’s undoubtedly becoming sentient as they speak, and Victor banishes it without another moment’s thought.

“Georgi,” he says brightly, “Yuuri and I brought you some decent coffee. Come on, cheer up. We have work to do.”

“Mmm,” Georgi groaned unintelligibly.

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Victor sighed. Georgi unpeeled his face from the desk to glare at him with bloodshot tear swollen eyes (all he’s missing in the mascara running down his face).

“How could you _say_ that?” he demanded.

“We have a demon on the loose that we should’ve caught a week ago,” Victor deadpanned, “Up and at ‘em. Chop chop. Once this is all over, you can cry some more while eating Ben and Jerry’s and watching _Titanic_.”

Georgi’s lip wobbled, “You promise?”

“I promise,” Victor sighed.

“Okay,” Georgi muttered sulkily and slouched off to the bathroom to wash his face.

“Um…is he always like this?” Yuuri asked when he’s disappeared around the corner.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mila tells him, sipping at her coffee and clicking frame by frame through what looks like security footage of Chris’s nightclub, “he’ll perk up in a couple of days. Anyway, you need to tell me what I’m looking for here, ‘cause all I see is people having fun.”

“Chris had a witness for us to talk to,” Victor sheds his jacket and hangs it on his chair, “We have reason to believe the summoner was staking out Arianna as his next target at the club over the last few weeks. The witness described him as tall, dark-haired with a beard, and well-dressed.”

“Heterochromia in the eyes,” Yuuri added.

“Tall and well-dressed, huh?” Mila muttered and minimized the footage, pulling up the view from an entirely different camera.

“Is that from the campus?” Victor asked, coming to stand at her shoulder. Mila stopped the video at one particular frame, where Arianna is in clear view of the camera walking down a shared path. Victor squints at a slightly blurry figure in the background carrying an umbrella.

“I almost missed it,” she said, “He was there one frame and then,” she clicks to the next frame, “gone.”

“So, he’s fast,” Victor muttered.

Georgi emerged from the bathroom, looking a little less like a zombie, “What did I miss?” he asked.

“We’re trying to get a visual of our suspect,” Victor told him, “so that Mila can attempt to run facial recognition.”

“He’s slippery,” Mila muttered, “This could be him here,” she pulls up a low resolution still from a traffic camera at a bus stop and she points to a figure in what could be a bespoke suit, but his head is obscured by a pigeon, “and then there’s this, about two blocks from Lunam.” it’s a different bus stop, the traffic camera is positioned a little better and the footage is higher quality but it’s raining which makes the lighting all wonky. But they can see the tall figure in what still looks like yet another bespoke suit.

“He has a knack for making sure we don’t see his face, doesn’t he?” Victor said.

“I know what to look for now,” Mila said and narrowed her eyes at the screen, “I’ll be on it like white on rice.”

Behind him Georgi is formally introducing himself to Yuuri and apologizing for his behavior.

“You’re fine,” Yuuri said, “I understand you’ve had a rough time lately.”

“Yes,” Georgi says, his voice starting to go all wobbly, “I suppose you could say that.” Georgi then clears his throat, “So, where is our intern?”

“Yeah, Victor,” Mila said pointedly, still typing and clicking away, “where _is_ the kitten?”

“I sent him home,” Victor lied, “it’s a school night and he still had homework to do.”

It’s not really the time for him to be divulging Yuri’s recent bad habit now that they’ve caught the scent of a promising suspect (not to mention, it might send Georgi off on a very different emotional rollercoaster and he would probably be forced to physically snap the analyst out of it this time, not just verbally). Mila doesn’t call him out on his bullshit just yet, and there’s no doubt she’ll force the truth out of him later.

“It’s best that he focuses on school,” Georgi nodded, “especially with graduation around the corner.”

“They grow up so fast,” Mila comments absently.

“Is he planning on applying straight out of school?” Yuuri asked.

“Oh definitely,” Georgi says, swirling his coffee around his cup, “His parents were Exorcists you know. Continuing the legacy and all that.”

“They were both Hunters,” Victor added.   

“Past tense?” Yuuri noted.

“They died seven years ago,” Victor said, “Come to think of it, the anniversary is coming up isn’t it?”

“It is,” Mila nodded, her eyes still glued to her monitors.

“I see,” Yuuri murmured sadly. For a moment there was a long awkward silence, broken by the chirp of Georgi’s phone and he frowned at the screen when he read the notification.

“Apparently, there’s a sticky situation down in the lab,” he said, standing up from his desk, “they need all the free hands they can get. If anything happens here, shoot me a text.”

“Fine. Shoo. Better than you hovering around here,” Mila muttered, waving a hand at him over her shoulder.

“And I suppose I’ll return these to the Archives,” Victor sighed, gathering all the heavy tomes and documents he’d pulled, “before the Scribes hunt me down.”

“You know, you could ask for help?” Yuuri said, watching him attempt to juggle everything.

“I got it,” Victor said. Yuuri shook his head and set down his tea before helping himself to some of the pile.

“This is the part where you say, ‘thank you’,” Yuuri reminded him.

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” Victor said, and Mila snickered. He made a face at the back of her head before leading the way out of the office. Could he have used magic to lighten his load? Maybe. The Scribes wouldn’t have appreciated their materials being teleported and then he never would’ve heard the end of it. Is he going to turn down another opportunity for alone time with their consultant? Absolutely not.

The European Branch of the Archives is linked to Headquarters via a pair of seemingly random doors between the Administration Wing and the Analyst Department, and they step out into the artificial sunlight coming through the gigantic glass rotunda five stories above their heads. In all directions it’s an endless jungle of towering bookshelves and study spaces tucked away in discreet pockets. Yuuri lets out a fascinated sound when they step through and Victor can’t resist grinning at the look on Yuuri’s face.

“It’s incredible,” Yuuri breathes.

“Isn’t it?” Victor says, “This way.” He adjusts his grip on the stack in his arms and leads the way to where the Scribes process returns and check outs. Occasionally a Scribe will stroll past them, sometimes wheeling a cart stacked with materials or carrying a gigantic tome. “Stay close,” he warns Yuuri, “the Archives are constantly being rearranged as new material is processed and added.”

“Do people get lost in here?” Yuuri asked, quickening his pace to catch up to Victor.

“All the time,” Victor said, “Just last week, one of the HR secretaries went missing for two days trying to find his way out of the Hall of Records.”

“Have you ever gotten lost in here?” Yuuri asked.

“Once,” Victor answered, “it was a few years ago, though.”

The circulation desk is quite large and manned by two Scribes wearing pressed deep red aprons over their clothes. Victor has Yuuri’s help sorting the documents by type into the appropriate slots where they’re whizzed away by invisible attendants.

“If I’d had access to this place when I was writing my thesis my life would have been _so_ much easier,” Yuuri joked.

“I never went to university,” Victor says, “is it like the movies?”

“Um, it’s safe to say that it’s probably nothing like the movies,” Yuuri said, a note of amusement coloring his voice. He drops the last document – a single sheet of laminated vellum – into its corresponding slot. The Scribes don’t acknowledge them at all, too engrossed in checking documents back into the system and inspecting them for damage. “University is stressful, but you also get to meet all these diverse people who want to better themselves and the world around them.”

“You make it sound interesting,” Victor said and Yuuri snorted, and it sounded loud in the quiet hush of the EBQH Archives.

“I can’t even make biological sex determination sound interesting,” he said, “Just ask my students.”

“Yuuri,” Victor scolds, a little offended, “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, and I’ve met _a lot_ of people. I want to know more about you.” Yuuri gives him a look full of unsaid skepticism.

“There’s not a whole lot to know,” Yuuri said, “I grew up in a tiny town in Japan, I used to be an Exorcist, and now I teach at Todai. That’s it.”

“You’re leaving out an awful lot,” Victor commented, side-stepping an oncoming Scribe pushing a squeaky cart loaded with books, “What about all of your past lovers?”

“Past _what?_ ” Yuuri asked incredulously.

“I could tell you about mine,” Victor rambles, “One time, I met this guy-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Yuuri said, shaking his head.

“My point is,” Victor said, “I want to know more about you. Like how you know Chris.”

“How do _you_ know Chris?” Yuuri asked and Victor chuckled.

“Touché,” he said, “It’s actually a very mundane story. I’d be happy to tell you about it. Maybe over lunch.”

“Alright,” Yuuri agrees with a note of hidden laughter. Victor nearly chokes on his own spit because he hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Since he’d met the professor he’d imagined asking in several ways – and then all the subsequent rejections that were sure to follow because even though Yuuri was easily a very nice person, there was always a chance that Yuuri wasn’t interested in men or that he wasn’t interested in _Victor_.

“It’s a date,” Victor chirped, practically skipping across the lobby to the elevators. He presses the button to summon it and turns to look at Yuuri who’s…not here? Ah, there he is! Just a few steps behind.

“Did you seriously just ask me out?” Yuuri demands once he’s in earshot and Victor’s earlier elation is starting to wither.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Victor asks in lieu of the direct answer Yuuri’s searching for, “I assure you that wasn’t my intention-“

“So, you didn’t mean it then?” Yuuri looks angry now and the elevator doors open with a ding and they both step inside. Victor presses the button for the HUNTER Department.

“I meant it,” Victor said, “I was honestly planning on giving you flowers when I asked, maybe introduce you to my dog and win you over with his cuteness instead.”

“You have a dog?” Yuuri asked and Victor pulled out his phone to show him a picture, “Awww,” Yuuri coos.

“His name’s Makkachin,” Victor said, “he’s my best friend.” Yuuri flips through a few more photos, a smile softening his features, before handing the phone back.

“Do you seriously want to…go on a date with me?” Yuuri asked.

“I do,” Victor nodded, then looked at him, “I’ll understand if you say no.” Yuuri bites on his bottom lip, looking a bit contemplative.

“It’s a ‘yes’,” Yuuri says as the elevator is coming to a stop, “but only because your dog is cute.”

Victor laughs, “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's bruises were caused by magic overuse. The marks can vary from case to case depending on magic type and severity. 
> 
> Note the lack of a 'slow burn' tag. Hunter's work is dangerous. I was originally going to have Yuuri brush off Victor's comment, but then I went, 'Naahh'. This chapter was a lot harder to write than I originally outlined, but I had two free days during all this holiday madness to hammer it out, which is why it's out much sooner than I thought. 
> 
> All of your continued support is bolstering me through the end of what has been a very shitty year and I purple each and every one of you (yes! Even you mysterious lurkers!). Mwah!


	8. Those Shoes? With That Bowtie??

_April 2019; Bunkyo_

Yuuri quietly sighs as he approaches his apartment and fishes out his keys. He barely gets the key in his door before the one across the hall from him swings wide open.

“Yuuri Katsuki, I have half a mind to call your mother,” Phichit threatens. Yuuri blinks and turns around to look at him. His neighbor doesn’t cut that much of an imposing figure when he’s in his Superman pajamas and stroking a huge rabbit like he’s Al Pacino from _The Godfather_.

“What are you still doing up?” Yuuri asked, then looks at the rabbit, “And what’s with the rabbit?”

“Oh no,” Phichit shifts the rabbit’s weight to one arm so he can point a scolding finger at Yuuri, “you don’t get to do that. I want an _explanation_ , mister.”

Yuuri sighs, “Come in and I’ll make you some cocoa.” He finishes unlocking the door and steps inside, toeing off his shoes in the _genkan_ and padding off to the kitchen, “You still haven’t told me what’s up with the rabbit.”

“I’m bunny-sitting,” Phichit says, “You have your own beans to spill, mister!”

The beans – as Phichit so eloquently put them – get spilled while Yuuri gathers the ingredients necessary for lazy hot cocoa and fills the electric kettle with water.

“You mean to tell me,” Phichit begins, “that you were going to _go out on a date_ with the hot Exorcist, dressed like _that?_ ”

Yuuri pauses in the middle of measuring out the cocoa powder to look down at himself, a little offended. He’d half expected Phichit to be up in arms about Yuuri meddling in a case he kind of has no business meddling in and potentially making himself a target for a very _very_ dangerous serial killer. And he thought he did alright dressing himself. He erred on the side of casual instead of professional, opting for jeans instead of slacks, and his converse instead of oxfords.

“What?” he demands.

“Yuuri, honey, _no_ ,” Phichit whines and sets the rabbit down by his feet so he can facepalm properly, “The bowtie, why?”

“Bowties are cool,” Yuuri says indignantly, “You _bought_ me this bowtie.”

“Yeah, for when you’re at work and doing your Bill Nye thing,” Phichit waves his hands at him, “Not for when you’re trying to woo hot members of the supernatural police.”

“I-I’m not trying to _woo_ him,” Yuuri splutters, and spills the cocoa powder.  

_Once he finds out I’m a failure, he won’t touch me with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole anyway._

He chews at the inner lining of his cheek and starts measuring out the sugar, “It doesn’t matter. We had to take a raincheck.”

Yakov had railroaded over all of their afternoon plans by monopolizing Yuuri’s afternoon. He’d insisted on going over the contract that the department head – known to him only as Lilia – had drawn up. Yuuri had protested needing one at all; he was still technically a member of the Agency with his status as ROS, and while he wasn’t getting a pension he still had his own source of income.

“It is illegal and against the Humanitarian Clauses outlined in the Code not to pay you for your time,” Yakov had said, “As such, if you do not wish to sign the contract, I will have to forbid your participation in the Heretic Investigation from here on.”

What was he supposed to do? Go to HR and request re-enlistment? Yeah right. Like the agency would have him back after the fiasco that was his last assignment. And he _couldn’t_ walk away. Not when they were so close to catching the culprit and Victor’s team was frightfully understaffed and stretched so thin. He was _finally_ starting to breathe a little easier these days, without guilt clogging his airways and dashing his chances of getting a good night’s sleep.

He’d ended up signing the contract and then spending another hour in HR getting things straightened out with the payroll. Victor had sulked a bit when they didn’t get to go on their date, though he’d seemed happy to hear that Yakov and Lilia had basically given the ‘okay’ to let Yuuri stay on.

Phichit gives him a disbelieving look and scoops up the rabbit, stroking along the soft fur of its back, “So when is this date going to happen?”

“We haven’t talked about it,” Yuuri said, adding hot water to the mug and giving it a stir, “It might not be until the case is over, at this rate.”

“Oh good,” Phichit said brightly, “then I can take you shopping. Operation: Get My Boy Laid is almost a go.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Yuuri blurted, turning to give his neighbor an incredulous look. 

“Yuuri, I’ve been your friend and neighbor for how many years now? And I have never _once_ seen you bring someone home or go out on a date. Hell, you don’t even have a Tinder account!”

“Why would I have a Tinder?” Yuuri muttered, and glowers into the cocoa while he stirs.

“All the times we’ve gone out you’ve gotten hit on at least once,” Phichit continues, “And you never went home with anyone. Not once.”

Yuuri looks up from the cocoa and gives Phichit an odd look, “What are you talking about?” all those times they went out Yuuri got horribly and shamefully wasted. And then the partying stopped because Yuuri got sick of the hangovers and took on more projects at the university to drown himself in work instead of alcohol and Phichit picked up more hours at the clinic. Those nights at the club were blurs of color and nonsensical sound that resulted in awful headaches that even Phichit’s herbal cures couldn’t fix.

Phichit sighs and sets the rabbit down again so he can press his palms together like he’s about to say a prayer – probably for his sanity – and says, “My point is, my sexy nerd friend,” Yuuri chokes on his own spit, “is that you are going through a _major_ dry spell. And as your best friend, it is my responsibility to make sure that you land the hot Exorcist.”

“Phichit, no,” Yuuri groans.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” Phichit hushes, shuffling forward in his Hamtaro slippers to press a finger to Yuuri’s lips, “no arguments. I’m helping you land the hot Exorcist.”

“His name is Victor,” Yuuri mumbles and hands Phichit the mug before grabbing the little handheld broom and dustpan from underneath the sink to sweep up the cocoa powder that he spilled.

“That’s what I said,” Phichit said and took a sip, smacking his lips, “We’ll brainstorm later. Grab Hinata for me?”

“Who?” Yuuri blinks and straightens, emptying the dustpan into the trash.

“The bunny, Yuuri,” Phichit gestures with the mug to the rabbit who’s starting to quietly explore Yuuri’s kitchen, “Hold her under the ribs, yep, and her back legs so she won’t kick. There we go.”

He walks the bunny out of his apartment and across the hall to Phichit’s. The TV is on and there’s scattered bits of hay on the living room floor and two empty hamster balls. Yuuri carefully puts Hinata back in her hutch and she settles on the little square of bedding in the far corner. With Phichit’s affinity for animals, it’s a wonder he hasn’t turned his apartment into a verified zoo, building regulations or not.

“Going to bed?” Phichit asked.

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighed, “I still have to teach.”

“Dr. Katsuki Yuuri,” Phichit says and strikes a dramatic pose, “hot professor by day, and badass Exorcist helper by night.”

“Okay,” Yuuri laughed, “I’m going to bed now. You can return my mug later.”

He really should sleep, but his brain is going a hundred miles per minute even with his body relaxed from a nice hot shower and his pajamas worn and comfortable. His brain refuses to acknowledge that it’s bedtime, instead reexamining the warning his old teacher had given him when the Hunters were out of earshot. 

“I’d feel a lot better if you distanced yourself from this, Yuuri,” she’d said, “But, I know you too well to trust you to do so. They’re in over their heads here.”

It wasn’t like her to hold things back. When she had been actively training him, she’d given him reasons for the things she made him do ( _This will improve your precision, this will improve your accuracy_ ). His questions got honest – and sometimes explicit – answers. The only things she kept close to her chest were some more personal details about her life before the Agency and before she led Yuuri’s Unit. So, this? This had been bothering him. Naturally.

Eventually, his body convinces his anxious brain to rest and the last three hours before his alarm is due to sound is spent uneasily tossing and turning, perpetually suspended on the cusp of sleep, without actually sleeping.

He silences his alarm with little ceremony when it goes off in the morning and hauls himself up and out of bed. He’s already the antithesis of a morning person, and after such a restless night he can tell he’ll need more than his standard coffee and pastry to lead today’s classes. He eats a more balanced breakfast and gets two coffees at the café, eyeballing the orange zest and lemon scones with obvious longing but resisting the empty calories.

“Good morning,” he greets his students at ten thirty on the dot, “These last few lectures will be a little heavy handed but bear with me and let’s try to make these last few weeks as painless as possible.” There’s a smattering of ironic laughter around the lecture hall, “Today we’re going to finish talking about the development of the central nervous system and then, the next two lectures will be led by a guest who will go over psychological and personality development and neurodevelopmental disorders.” Essentially leaving him some free time to help with the case. It’s a good thing his last anxiety-driven all-nighter was spent preparing everything left on the tentative course schedule that he’d posted at the beginning of the semester. All that was left was to send the final to the printers and put his name in for the bulk order of scantrons.

In his back pocket, his phone buzzes with a notification. Or two. Or three. Another? Really? It might be Phichit, gushing about someone’s cute pet that was brought into the clinic. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s blown up Yuuri’s phone with pictures of kittens or someone’s new puppy. He waits until his first class is dismissed before checking his messages.

 

 

Victor  
  
I know I literally just saw you a few hours ago but is it alright if I come see you?  
  
Just to talk.  
  
I can't sleep.  
  
Makka is a shameless bed hog.

Yuuri smiles when he sees the photo Victor’s attached of his chocolate brown poodle sleeping with his long legs stretched all the way out and sleeping peacefully on what might possibly be Victor's bed. 

 

 

Victor  
  
Makka is a shameless bed hog.  
  
I'll gladly steal him from you.  
  
I'm at the university, but you're welcome to stop by.

More than halfway through his last class for the day, the doors quietly squeak open and a tall figure slips into an empty seat at the very back. Yuuri catches a glimpse of silver before he changes slides and gestures to the photo on the screen with his laser pointer, “Approximately fifteen percent of our cardiac output travels through about four hundred miles of vasculature in the human forebrain. Looking at this, it should be easy right? To get drugs and all sorts of stuff in and out of the brain. But, a tricky little thing called the Blood Brain Barrier carefully regulates the vascular space…”  

Victor approaches Yuuri when the lecture finishes and the last of the students trickle out of the lecture hall doors. “I can see why you’d be the favorite around here,” he grins.

“Oh yeah?” Yuuri scoffs, disconnecting his laptop from the projector before closing the lid and slipping it back into his bag.

“Mm. It’s a pity none of my teachers looked like you when I was in school,” Victor sighs, “I would have had a better excuse for my lack of productivity.”

“You were a bad student?” Yuuri asked, for a moment not quite believing it but then he remembers how Victor brought him on as a consultant without getting permission from his handler (who so happens to be the Assistant Director of the European branch of HUNTER) and how sometimes there would be a devilish light to his eyes that made him look like a troublemaking teen, “I can believe that.”

“Yuuri,” Victor gasped, “you were supposed to say, ‘I don’t believe that for a second’.”

“But, that would make me a liar,” Yuuri teased. He unhooks the microphone from his shirt and sets it, along with its corresponding battery pack, on the desk next to the laser point that he has absolutely _not_ warded against running low on battery.

“So cruel,” Victor whined and Yuuri laughs. “Is this the thanks I get for coming all this way?”

 _This isn’t so bad_ , he thinks. _This? This is surprisingly easy._

 _It won’t last_ , snorts an intrusive thought.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Yuuri pats him consolingly on the shoulder, and he heads towards the doors at the back of the lecture hall. Victor pouts and dutifully follows Yuuri out of the building and into the spring humidity. Out in the sunshine, it’s easier to tell that Victor hasn’t slept and hasn’t been sleeping well at all lately. There are shadows under his eyes and his jawline looks unnaturally sharp. He looks like he could do with a good meal and a hot bath. Yuuri has seen Victor eat a decent-sized meal maybe twice in the last two days, but it looks like the man doesn’t do a very good job of taking care of himself otherwise.

“Yuuri?” Victor blinks and Yuuri realizes he’s been staring like a creep.

“Are you hungry?” he blurts, his mortification doing that weird thing where it partially damages his filter, “I’m sorry, it’s just…you look hungry. I mean, not in a bad way, I was just, um…I’ll stop talking now.”

Victor has a faint look of surprise on his face, “I could eat,” he says, “What did you have in mind?”

“I know just the place,” Yuuri said.

**~ T ~**

“Oh my god,” Victor groans, “This is _amazing_.”

Yuuri is thoroughly amused by Victor’s blatant enthusiasm and the outright shocked delight that lit up his handsome face. How is it even possible that this man exists?

“How have I _lived_ without this?” Victor enthuses around a mouthful of fried pork, “Is this what gods eat?” he’s clearly not expecting an answer, what with all of his focus on the pork cutlet bowl in front of him. Yuuri doesn’t blame him one bit and he chuckles quietly. “How are you so _casual_ about this?” Victor demands when Yuuri calmly takes another bite.

“My mom’s is better,” Yuuri shrugs and then lets out an amused snort when Victor’s eyes go all round.

“Better than this?” he asked, then his forehead rest against the edge of the table with a low thump, “My tastebuds would be ruined for anything else.”

“It’s addicting,” Yuuri agreed succinctly, “When I first came home during university, I gained _so_ much weight.”

“I bet you were cute,” Victor smiled, lifting his head off the table, “All round and soft.” Yuuri snorted.

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use to describe it,” he muttered. Sure, being chubby was cute when you were a kid and the world hadn’t quite corrupted you yet and there was still that sparkle of innocence and hope that made every five-year-old excited to wake up in the morning. Not so much when you were a forty-four-year-old Warlock and retired Exorcist who could be shanghaied into combat in the event of an emergency.

“Adorable then,” Victor amends, “Endearing. I could go on.” Honestly, this man is ridiculous. Yuuri palms his forehead and keeps his chin angled down so that Victor can’t see the physical manifestation of his embarrassment. Though, judging by his little giggle, Yuuri’s efforts were in vain. Victor finishes the rest of his bowl in record time and then orders a second when the waitress passes by. Yuuri looks up from his bowl when the heat has adequately faded from his face and finds Victor looking at him with those impossibly blue eyes. There’s that embarrassment again, starting to climb up into his neck.

“What?” he asked, trying not to fidget. Victor smiles and it’s small, soft, and a little bemused?

“Nothing,” Victor said, “it’s just…you’re kind of mysterious?”

Yuuri gives him an odd look. Mysterious? If anything, Victor’s the mysterious one. He’s got this ‘anything goes’ attitude and yet he’s probably got more secrets than Area 51. What the fuck –?

 _He hasn’t read my file_ , he realizes. This man really is all kinds of ridiculous.

“Um…what?” Yuuri said, not sure whether to laugh or get offended, “You know, I have a file that says otherwise.” Victor – surprisingly – got all huffy and rolled his eyes.

“Your file,” he mutters, “Even if I read it, it wouldn’t tell me anything about who you are as a person, what your favorite color is, or what you wanted to be when you grew up. Sure, I could deduce and make assumptions, but you know what they say about assuming.”

“That’s a really good point,” Yuuri conceded, “But, if you didn’t read my file, why did you push so hard for me to consult this case?”

“It’s like you said,” Victor said simply, “we’re a little shorthanded. And if our perp is planning something sinister, which he undoubtedly is, then we’ll definitely need your help. None of us had ever heard of Ward magic before this case. My team is obligated to see this guy’s plans fall through and we can’t do that without you.”

“You didn’t know me though,” Yuuri protested, “You still don’t.” Panic was starting to leech its way into the previously good vibes that had saturated their outing. Victor’s faith in him was completely blind and surely, he _had_ to know, Yuuri _had_ to tell him that he was putting his trust in an absolute _failure_ –

Victor gave him a searching look, “That’s why we’re here isn’t it? So, I can get to know you? Besides, if it makes you feel any better, Mila read your file and vouched for you. And both of our Directors definitely read it, and they gave you a contract anyway.”

 _So now the Directors of the European HUNTER Department know that I’m a sentient dumpster fire?_ Wonderful, he thought bitterly, _Absolutely_ fantastic.

Yuuri takes a bite of his lukewarm katsudon, though now his appetite is thoroughly demolished, and he can barely taste it. At this rate, he’s going to ruin everything. He’s certain of it.

“Yuuri,” Victor said quietly, “I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re fine,” Yuuri said quickly, “It’s not your fault, I just…think too much.” That’s a really lame way of describing high-functioning anxiety, but it’s the most succinct description he’s currently got in his arsenal. Victor doesn’t look all that reassured but nods and then flashes a smile at the waitress when she brings by his second bowl of katsudon. Yuuri bites his lip when Victor makes a happy sound around the first bite.

“I can’t believe it can get better than this,” he groaned, “It’s already so good.”

 _That’s what she said_ , snickered a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jade- _sensei_. Heat was already crawling up his neck, through his cheeks and making his ears burn, and he bit his tongue before an inappropriate noise could escape. Victor paused.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He had grains of rice and some fugitive panko crumbs around his mouth.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri squeaked and cleared his throat, “You, uh, you got a little…”

It shouldn’t be sexy, or cute, watching Victor Nikiforov try to reach the mess on his face with his tongue after declaring, “I shouldn’t waste a single morsel!”. Yuuri purses his lips so he doesn’t burst out laughing in the middle of the restaurant and hands Victor a napkin.

“Just use this,” he chuckles, “You won’t be able to get it all.” Victor pouts but accepts the napkin.

Victor starts to lag near the end of the second bowl and he sits back in his seat with what Yuuri likes to call a fat-and-happy sigh and his eyelids are drooping. Yuuri pays for the meal before Victor can appropriately recover from his borderline food coma. Clearly, Victor’s sleepless night is catching up to him now that his stomach is full.

“Ready to go?” Yuuri asked, stacking their bowls and their chopsticks for the waitstaff.

“Mm? Yeah, let me just,” Victor feels about in his pockets.

“It’s alright, I got it,” Yuuri said, and stood up.

“ _Yuu_ ri,” Victor whined.

“Hush,” Yuuri gently admonished and led him out of the restaurant, waving to the staff.

“Where to?” Victor asked.

“I need to take my stuff home,” Yuuri said, “and then I can take you back to your apartment.”

Well that _was_ the plan, but Victor fell asleep in the entryway (“I’ll sit for just a second while you set your stuff down,” he’d said.). Most of his weight was slumped sideways with his head against the wall and his long legs bent in the short space between the raised edge of the genkan and the door. Yuuri felt something inside him melt as he looked at Victor’s exhausted form. It wasn’t fair that even like this he was pretty. His complexion was so fair that Yuuri could see the veins in his eyelids and his pale eyelashes rested against the tops of his cheeks. The shadows of his cheekbones were deep, and he could see a faint line of stubble on the edge of his jawline where his shaver had missed.

Yuuri sighed quietly and gently removed Victor’s shoes, neatly placing them in line by the door, and taking off his jacket before silently levitating him into the bedroom and tucking him in. A glance at the time told him it was nearing three in the afternoon here, so it would be around seven in the morning in Geneva. He _should_ wake up Victor and take him to the office, but it’s obvious the man hasn’t been sleeping that well and Yuuri doesn’t have the heart to wake him after seeing him like that. He set himself up on the couch to go through the flood of emails in his inbox, grimacing when he saw another email from the university’s tenure committee asking for a response to their last correspondence. He didn’t know why he was taking so long to accept what was undoubtedly a very generous contract to stay on at Todai. He liked the anonymity, the little bubble here where nobody knew about his past failures and inadequacies. It was a simple life, a quiet life.  

_It’s not enough._

He bit his lip, marked it as read, and moved on.

 _Selfish_ , remarked an intrusive thought.

He finishes a recommendation letter that he’s been sitting on for two weeks, politely declines an invitation to join on a research project that the genetics department recently approved, responds to his TAs to give them the go-ahead for the review sessions that they’ve been organizing, and sends an email to his students to let them know that his office hours for this week are cancelled.

With his inbox cleared and nothing pressing on his to-do list, he sets aside his laptop and takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He turns on the TV, makes sure the volume is low and gets up to make himself some tea.

It occurs to him in the middle of filling up the electric kettle that his outing with Victor might count as a date –

 _It_ so _counts as a date_ , says a little voice that definitely sounds like Phichit.

But, they hadn’t discussed it. And weren’t you supposed to avoid talking about work when you’re on a date? Yuuri didn’t know, he hadn’t been on one in so long. He bit his lip. Should he ask Phichit? Even after their talk about appropriate date attire? Oh Hades, if it _was_ a date Phichit will _definitely_ choke him for wearing a bowtie, and slacks. But bowties are cool! And this one doesn’t even have a cool pattern on it-

He starts and realizes he’s overfilled the kettle and he’s getting water _everywhere_. He shuts it off, pours out the excess and sets the kettle on its base. He’s got a large wet spot on his shirt now and he can’t go grab a new one with a sleeping guest in his room.

 _Just talk to him about it when he wakes up_ , he tells himself, _either way, you had a relatively good time, right?_ He nods at himself, taking a deep breath and pulls down a mug and a box of his favorite tea. He focuses all of his attention on making the tea, refusing to think about questions like _What if that doesn’t work? What if he thinks you’re too mouthy? What if what if what if –_

He settles on the couch and changes the channel until he finds a program about cute animals and he risks disturbing Victor by turning up the volume just a little. His tea almost goes cold because he’s too busy cooing at the television screen and sending snippets of the program to Phichit via the Snapchat he recently remembered he had. He ends up reheating his tea a little to take the chill out of it so it doesn’t go to waste. In the middle of a bit about pandas, he gets a text message and he reluctantly takes his eyes off the cute baby pandas to see who it’s from.

 

 

Mila, Victor, Georgi  
  
Mila  
Assemble!

He blinks at message and dimly wonders if it’s a joke.

 

 

Mila, Victor, Georgi  
  
Mila  
Assemble!  
  
Mila  
Seriously tho. Today would be nice.

Okay, so _not_ a joke then. His phone buzzes again. 

 

 

Mila, Victor, Georgi  
  
Mila  
Assemble!  
  
Mila  
Seriously tho. Today would be nice.  
  
Georgi  
ill b up in 10

Yuuri wants to ask when she made a group chat but figures it would be best to wait until later. He sets his phone aside, puts his mug in the sink for washing, and pads quietly into the bedroom.

Victor’s turned on his side to face the door since Yuuri’s set him in bed, his long legs slightly curled, and his arms loosely tucked towards his torso. His face isn’t quite relaxed; his expression is more placid than peaceful. Yuuri approaches with caution, not quite sure if he should touch him to wake him. “Victor,” he tries speaking above a whisper, and when there’s no response he tries again but a little louder, “Victor?”

Victor frowns and Yuuri reaches out to put a hand on his hip and give him a light shake, “Victor.”

There’s a beat or two and Victor raises his head off the pillow, “Mm, Yuuri?”

“Mila wants us to come to the office, I think it’s urgent,” he said.

“Okay,” Victor hums, his voice still low with sleep and he sits up with a yawn. Yuuri almost wishes he’d taken a photo when it’s over because Victor _scrunches his nose_ when he yawns and it’s _so_ cute – Gah! He needs to focus. Victor scrubs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“You’re fine,” Yuuri assured him, and he bites his lip, “I didn’t mind.”

“Not exactly the perfect end to a first date though, is it?” Victor said, his tone slightly joking and Yuuri pauses. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “Really. Better than, say, getting attacked by a peletan demon.” Victor pauses in the middle of stretching to give Yuuri a curious look.

“Has that happened to you before?” he asked, and he chuckles when Yuuri nods, “Now _that_ would be an interesting story. I want to hear all about that.”

“Maybe another time,” Yuuri said and then – because why the fuck not? – takes a leaf out of Victor’s book, “over dinner.”

And Yuuri gets a front row seat to the slow look of elation that lights up Victor’s face when he realizes that there’s going to be a second date. And maybe a third, and a fourth. He wants Victor to look like that all the time.

“I’m gonna change really quick,” Yuuri says, “and then we can go.”

“Okay,” Victor agrees and stands up, “I’ll wait for you by the door.”

Yuuri exchanges his corduroys, button up, and bowtie, for a t-shirt and a sturdy pair of jeans. He grabs a hoodie and slips it on, leaving it unzipped. Victor is leaning against the wall in the entryway, his shoes and jacket already on, and his phone out. “When did Mila make a group chat?” Victor asked, when Yuuri takes a seat on the edge of the genkan to put on his shoes.

“No idea,” Yuuri answers, tying his laces and standing up.

Victor does the honors of opening the Portal and when they step out into the little communal space taken up by Victor’s Unit, Mila and Georgi are already waiting there. The latter still looks a little dead-eyed after his weekend-long crying jag but otherwise fine and the former is drawing penises on the Smart Board she’s wheeled into the office.

“About time you guys got here!” Mila greets them loudly, “When I say ‘assemble’ I mean tout sweet.”

“You can’t have been waiting long,” Victor waves her off, “Anyway, did you call us here to play with your new toy or is it related to the case?”

“Hm, this? I borrowed this from down the hall, but that’s not important,” Mila waves that off, “I called you here because we have a bit of a situation.”

She goes over to her computer and pulls up a still from a security camera. Despite being taken on a public bus, it’s surprisingly clear. There’s minimal noise and they can see a tall gentleman in a bespoke suit sitting just behind a sweet old lady that Yuuri recognizes as Rosita Nuñez. “This is from about two months prior to the day Mrs. Nuñez died,” Mila said, “It’s the clearest I could get. But he’s most definitely our guy. I’ve spotted Suit here hanging around each victim at least three weeks prior to their death, but he staked Rosita out the longest.”

“Okay,” Victor said slowly, “What’s the problem? Did you run facial recognition?”

“I did,” Mila said grimacing, “And…that’s the problem. This guy’s a ghost. His image should be on file _somewhere_ , but no driver’s license and no passport. Europe has CCTV everywhere now, but he hasn’t shown up on any other cameras except when he was stalking the victims. Hell, he hasn’t even used an ATM machine.”

“He’s been using magic to travel on and off the continent then,” Yuuri said, “Makes him older. Possibly a pureblood.”

“You think he’s a member of the old Aristocracy?” Victor asked, and Georgi makes a low noise of distaste into his atrociously large coffee mug when Victor mentions it.

“It’s a possibility,” Yuuri nodded, “Or he’s just really really careful. Still, we could give it a look.”

“I’m having Intelligence cast the net a little wider with facial recognition,” Mila said, “since my computer’s processor can only handle so much. I’ll start doing some digging though, maybe we’ll get a hit.”

“Well, digging through the Archives will go faster with more than one head,” Victor said brightly, “Yuuri?”

“Sounds like a start,” Yuuri agreed. He doesn’t know much about the old Aristocracy anyway, and this will be a good learning experience. It always helps to be prepared for the future.

“Georgi, has CSI gotten back to you at all?” Victor asked suddenly.

“The hairs we picked up have all belonged to either the victim, a pet, or a family member,” Georgi said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes, “We’re a little backlogged, but at the rate we’re going we’re not going to find anything relevant.” He unceremoniously stands up, “I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

The three of them watch Georgi slouch out of the office, and Yuuri blinks. He doesn’t know Georgi that well, but he seems…subdued. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asked slowly.

“Hm,” Victor frowns, “He is taking this a little hard, isn’t he?”

“Seems like it,” Mila agreed, “We should take him to the gym later.” Victor and Mila exchange a look that’s unreadable to Yuuri, but they seem to come to a silent agreement, reading each other’s minds before they nod.

“Agreed,” Victor said.

“You can join us if you want Yuuri,” Mila said, “We can feel out each other’s skills.” She gives Victor an obvious completely unsubtle look accompanied by an eyebrow waggle that reminds Yuuri of Phichit.

“Um, sure,” Yuuri said, “I’m a little rusty, so it would be good for me to get some training in.”

It’s been a long time – too long – since he’s actually sparred with someone. His main source of exercise has been dance, since he retired, which is good cardio but he hasn’t so much as touched a weapon in years. It’s a miracle that Jade- _sensei_ hadn’t decided to kick his ass for slacking off when he last saw her. His status is ROS, not RED, and keeping up with his skills is important in the event that the Agency calls in all their resources to handle a crisis. It’s happened before, years before his time, but the possibility is there.

Victor’s grin is anticipatory, “I can’t wait.” There’s almost nothing sexual in the way he says it, but a little thrill still goes down Yuuri’s spine.

“Research now, flirt later,” Mila said, and takes a seat at her computer. She logs into the Archives’ database and types a query into the search bar and gets a meagre amount of hits. “There’s not that many heraldry documents that have been digitized,” Mila said, “There’s a short article though. Kind of a list.”

It’s a much longer list than Yuuri was expecting and he blinks when Victor crosses the name Popovich off the list entirely. “The Popovich line is all Mance witches,” Victor explained, “Georgi’s family specialize primarily in life magic. Healing and empathy. That sort of stuff.”

“Our Georgi’s a rebel,” Mila chuckled, “All of his family work with live patients, but he chose to work with the dead ones.”

“Well that rules them out,” Yuuri said, “Especially if none of them are versed in conjuring.”

“We’re most likely looking for a Warlock,” Victor said, “but we definitely should rule out all the witch families.” Which means a trip to the Archives, since most of what they need hasn’t yet been added to the online database.

Mila immediately volunteers to comb through the documents that are already digitized, “I can read faster than you,” she said, “By the time you get back, I’ll be more than halfway done.”  

Yuuri wasn’t going to say ‘no’ to another visit to the fascinating labyrinthian library and between himself and Victor, they could carry more documents. Even after seeing it yesterday, it was still jarring; the glass rotunda high above their heads and the intimidating jungle of bookshelves. The only difference between yesterday and today was Victor asking the floor for directions to sections on magical heraldry.

“Are the Archives sentient?” Yuuri asked.

“No, the floor is just charmed,” Victor said, sounding a little amused.

They find several books that are all heavy, leather bound, and quite dusty. Carefully preserved, each one is sturdy despite being at least two centuries old and they carefully levitate the ones that seem most relevant out of the stacks and towards check out. The Scribe in charge of the desk today looks quite young and very bored. He takes Victor’s tags, checks out the materials in Victor’s name, and stacks them all meticulously on the desk for the taking. Victor makes sure the ball chain is securely around his neck again before they take everything and make their way back towards the rotunda.

And then Victor gets a call. The stack of levitating books doesn’t waver while Victor grabs his phone, “It’s Chris,” he says and swipes to answer, “ _Bonjour_.”

Yuuri feels a strange foreboding chill go down his spine even though he can’t hear what’s being said, but the look on Victor’s face becomes serious and then downright grim as he listens, “Are you sure?” Victor asked, a pause while Chris speaks, “Text me the address and give us fifteen minutes.” he hangs up and Yuuri’s almost afraid to ask how bad it is. Thankfully, Mila does it for him when they get back upstairs, and she sees Victor’s face.

“How bad is it?” she asked. Clearly, she meant ‘on a scale of one to five’ because all Victor says is:

“We’re at about a two-point-five.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm all about those weird stopping points. I tried to finish this in time for Yuuri's birthday, but that obviously didn't happen. So here it is, twelve days before Christmas instead (holy HELL it's almost Christmas!!) 
> 
> Speaking of Christmas, I've thought about writing an appropriately themed one-shot set in this universe. You're all welcome to give me ideas. 
> 
> Super uncreative but 'mance' is just taken from the words 'animancer' and 'necromancer'. The Greek root, 'menos', means 'spirit', which I thought was fitting. I'm not an etymologist, but I did my best. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support this far. You're all wonderful. Until next time my dears!


	9. Fuck Mondays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: The archive warning for violence applies to this chapter. Gore and graphic descriptions of corpses ahead.

_April 2019; Florence_

He steps through the giant hole in the wall where the doors used to be and finds Chris near the stage, snapping photos of the wreckage of his club with his cellphone. His silk shirt is close to being in shreds and there’s a sizeable hole in his fancy pinstriped trousers over the meat of his thigh where the glass from the imploded windows caught him.

“You got here fast,” Chris said, and Victor has a brief moment of déjà vu.

“Not fast enough,” Victor replied, taking in the wreckage. The bar is completely destroyed; the fine marble countertop is on the floor in pieces, and there’s booze everywhere. He can see blood on the walls and congealing in dark pools on the floor.

“Jesus,” Georgi swears, looking around and his hand tightens on the handle of his kit. Yuuri is behind him, silently taking in the wreckage with an unreadable look on his face. Shattered glass litters the ground like cheap scattered diamonds and the smell of rain filters in over the smell of alcohol. There are several deep gouges in the walls by where the door used to be, and by the bar.

“Did you get a good look at it?” Victor asked, approaching the walls to inspect the deep scratches. Unlike the scorch marks from previous crime scenes, these have no energy, no malicious intent. So, a different sort of monster did this. Chris lowers his phone from where he’s snapping photos of the destroyed rigging that had previously been used to suspend the cages from the ceiling.

“It was fast,” Chris said, “Very fast. And big. After the windows burst, I barely had time to shove one of my girls out of the way before she got crushed.” He gestures to the cage lying on its side. The bars are bent, and the mirrored bottom is completely shattered. “Before that it was business as usual. I didn’t even see it coming.”

Victor exchanges a look with Yuuri who then turns towards the bar, his footsteps barely making a sound despite the amount of glass.

“Any casualties?” Victor asked after tearing his eyes away from Yuuri’s limber gait.

“Just one,” Chris sighed shakily, his face unusually somber.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, his voice tight and Georgi makes a low sad sound that’s becoming a little too familiar. Victor turns and sees Yuuri standing by the destroyed bar. Victor approaches, seeing a pair of legs sticking out from behind what’s left of the countertop, the rest of the body largely obscured from view.

He closes his eyes when he comes to a stop next to Yuuri and sees a shock of blue-raspberry hair. It’s the only thing left to identify Elisa by. Her face is completely destroyed with thick gouges marring her features. Flesh has been laid open down to the bone, barely held on with fine strings of sinew and ligament. Her face is in much better shape than the rest of her, which Victor can only describe as ‘half-eaten’. The torso has been completely ripped open, glimpses of white bone from her ribcage and shattered sternum means it went straight for the tender meat of her innards. One of her arms is missing, and half of the other one has been picked clean.

“Does she have any family?” Victor asked, turning to look at Chris to give his eyes some respite.

“Just Camilla,” Chris said, “her sire. She hasn’t been informed yet.” He still looks a little shaken, his green eyes dark with contemplation. No doubt, he recognizes that he got off easy. Vampire or not, it’s not easy to shake off a pretty violent brush with death.

As for the staff that were here to clean up the facilities and prepare for happy hour, they got to witness the destruction first hand and the unfortunate demise of their coworker. They’ll probably need counseling.

Georgi crouches next to her legs after grabbing a pair of gloves from his kit and he crouches next to the body, “She must be pretty young. She hasn’t begun to decompose yet,” he murmured.

“Is it possible to even get a TOD from a vampire?” Yuuri asked, tilting his head, looking quite serious behind his glasses, “They’re technically already dead.”

“It’s much harder than with a human,” Georgi murmured, blue eyes narrowed at the mess while he takes out a camera and removes the lens cap, “Mundane science and research methods give us all sorts of information about how our bodies decompose. But a vampire’s physiology is different. Rate of decomp is affected by how old the vampire is, cause of death, how recently they fed before they died, and so on.”

“Our Georgi knows his shit,” Victor said proudly. Georgi lets out a scoff and starts taking photos.

“There isn’t a lot of research being done into how vampire bodies decompose,” Georgi muttered, his face scrunched as he held the viewfinder to his eye.

“The idea of someone taking notes while staring at my corpse creeps me out to be honest,” Mila said, making her entrance, “I mean, sure, I’m hot ‘n all, but check me out when I’m still kicking. Give me the benefit of being flattered.”

“Amen,” Chris agreed. He and Mila exchange an amused look.

“So, who we got here?” she asked, tilting her head and taking a brief sniff, then turned to look at Chris, “She yours?”

“No,” Chris answered, “Her sire is currently on a business trip. Something about a territory dispute in the Crimea, I believe.”

“Politics,” Mila muttered with a roll of her eyes, “it’s a bitch.” Chris vehemently agrees.

Victor wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot stick. He knew very little about vampire politics and he wasn’t about to start now.

“This is the witness we interviewed the other day,” Victor said, explaining to Mila, “She was Arianna’s girlfriend, and very observant.” Mila frowned at that and looked at the remnants that Georgi was starting to poke at now that he’d documented them.

“I’m guessing she worked here,” she glanced at Chris who nodded, “This is a serious change in M.O.,” Mila said, “It’s not like him to tie up loose ends or go after young female vampires for that matter.”

“It’s not like him to leave any loose ends either,” Yuuri said flatly, examining a deep scrape in the hallway wall leading out to the staff entrance…or, at least where the staff entrance used to be. “So, he panicked after he realized he made a mistake. And now, there’s a probably coretan demon running loose in the city.”

“Is it possible the summoner was able to keep it under his control?” Chris asked, “If not, we need to warn all the troupes in the city.”

“The chances are slim,” Victor said grimly, “He already put himself at risk, summoning a lower level demon after he’s already got the first. It’s like only being allowed to check out one book at a time and then pushing your luck with the librarian by attempting to check out a second.” The urgency is building now. A coretan is relatively easy to track, and they’re pretty picky about what they eat, but they can still destroy buildings and crush cars. The MR Department and the IMC would be quite unhappy if the collateral damage extended into such a densely populated city like Florence.

“Once it started feeding, it’s likely he let his guard down and it flew the coop as soon as he did,” Yuuri said, “I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Well shit,” Mila swore.

None of them are properly outfitted for a hunt. Georgi needs to bag the body, and the witnesses that Mila just helped deliver to the nearest IMC hospital need to get their statements taken.

It’s definitely shaping up to one of _those_ Mondays.

Georgi elects to stay behind and call in some help to scrape together what’s left of the girl, and to screen the crime scene for any evidence of the summoner. “He must’ve left behind something,” Georgi said, “A hair, maybe some blood from the summoning ritual.”

While Georgi steps out to make a quick phone call, Victor concentrates on turning their civilian clothes into standard combat blacks. The transition is almost seamless, and he smiles when Yuuri makes a noise of surprise and Mila swears.

“Victor, didn’t we just have a conversation about warning a bitch?” she tugs at the clingy nanofiber shirt and bends down to tighten the laces on her boots.

“You’re welcome,” Victor said cheerfully.

“Um, Victor?” Yuuri says quietly, “I think I need a little adjustment.” Victor looks at him and almost chokes on his tongue. Chris lets out a low suggestive whistle. The shirt is a little too small, the already clingy fabric shows off Yuuri’s tight stomach and lean arms; his trousers are too big, allowing the top of Yuuri’s underwear to peek over the top of the waistband though he’s doing his best to hold them up and keep them from falling all the way off.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you did that on purpose,” Chris said quietly, giving Victor a sly look and he feels a flush start to spread up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears.

“I’m _so_ sorry. I’ll fix it,” Victor scrambles, “I should have asked for your measurements.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri smiled, though it looks a tad strained around the edges. It takes Victor a moment to get his brain to stop spiraling into the gutter and corral the shreds of his focus, so he can adjust the sizing of Yuuri’s clothes.

Focus _Nikiforov! We don’t have time for this!_ he berates himself.

The professor relaxes a little bit after Victor works his magic (pun definitely intended) so that the gear fits him properly.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Victor apologizes, his face still pink with embarrassment and Mila’s got her eyebrows raised at him in a silent question. It’s not like him to make mistakes like that, especially when they’re short on time, and he’s grateful that she’s keeping her mouth shut about it.

“Such a shame that I’m not allowed to come along,” Chris heaves a dramatic sigh, “But, you know what they say: leave it to the professionals.”

“I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” Victor says brightly, conjuring three comms units and handing one to Mila, another to Yuuri, and fixing the third on himself.

They follow the blood smears – most likely from Elisa’s arm – and scrapes to the demon’s exit point and out into the back alley behind the club. The cloud cover overhead is still pretty light, but the smell of rain is still heavy on the air which might mean that Mila can’t get a scent.

“I wish I had a werewolf’s nose,” Mila sighs, drawing up her hood to shade her face.

“I don’t think you’ll need one,” Yuuri nodded to where there are deep gouges in the crumbling asphalt near the base of the dumpster and there’s dents in the metal. A pale arm missing a large chunk of flesh lays forgotten just beside the trash. Halfway up the club’s back wall there’s a tell-tale smear of blood along with claw marks.

“No sign of re-entry,” Victor murmured, “So it took off.”

“Probably to find something more appetizing,” Yuuri suggested. Mila shoots off a quick text, no doubt informing Georgi that they found the missing arm.

“Looks like I’m going up,” she sighed, tucking her phone away, “Smart bastard took the rooftops.” She gets a good grip on the drain pipe at the edge of the building and scales it quickly. Victor taps his earpiece and for a moment there’s nothing but faint white noise.

“Mila?” he asks.

“I hear you,” she grunts, and he watches her legs disappear over the edge, “There’s more blood here. Looks like it went west-southwest towards the downtown area. I don’t see any sign of it heading back to ground level just yet.”

“Yuuri and I will still stay on the ground just in case,” Victor said, Yuuri easily falling into step beside him, “let us know when you have a visual.”

“Copy that,” Mila replied.

They stick to the back alleys and side streets while they follow the trail with directions from above.

“I can’t help but feel unsettled about all of this,” Yuuri confesses when they cut through a narrow winding alleyway, “This is too out of character. It’s not like he cared about finishing off the last people his other victims previously spoke to.”

“He was too obvious with the latest vic,” Mila said in their ears, grunting with the impact of jumping another roof, “The big tips, the staring. He could have stalked her from a distance like with the others. But, he actually made contact. Why?”

“Maybe he wanted to scope her out more thoroughly,” Victor suggested, “Maybe he just wanted a drink and decided to get cozy. Who knows?”

“I think,” Yuuri begins slowly, falling behind Victor as the next side street becomes too narrow for them to walk comfortably side by side, “that he might have actually developed feelings for her. It would explain a lot. His behavior pattern, the slight change in M.O. that resulted in a cleaner crime scene-”

“Elisa’s brutal death,” Victor murmurs, following Yuuri’s train of thought, “You think he was jealous.”

“Siccing a coretan demon on a vampire that’s less than a decade old is overkill,” Yuuri said, “Really, as young as she was, without any real experience in how to defend herself she would’ve been easy pickings for a Warlock like him. If he just wanted to ‘tie up loose ends’, he could have killed her quick and easy.”

“Jealous men do stupid things,” Mila agreed, then she audibly pauses and sniffs, “I smell blood. And a lot of it.”

“It’s feeding again,” Victor murmured, slowing his pace, and he looked at Yuuri, “Like you said.”

“Vampire flesh wasn’t gonna cut it in a city this big,” Yuuri said quietly. Mila’s breathing was near silent in their ears, her focus entirely on stealth.

“I got eyes. Straight ahead,” she breathed, “Second right and then the first left.”

And there it was, face deep in the torso of some poor smelly vagrant who’d probably hoped his body would wither away quietly. The demon looked like the most unholy offspring between a scorpion and a Komodo dragon with a long-ish triangle-shaped snout and teeth as long and sharp as chef’s knives. From a distance it looked smooth all over, thick interlocking scales protecting ninety-five percent of its body. It was clearly enjoying itself based on the low rumbling noises it made, accompanying the tearing, slurping, and squelching. One set of claws, attached to a short powerful leg, was buried deep in what remained of the face to keep the body from jostling too much while it ate. A thick tail swung behind it in contentment – the barb at the end was sheathed which meant it hadn’t yet perceived the impending threat.

Victor held out his arm automatically to direct his partner to stop while he observed the demon’s behavior, his body shielded by the wall, and started to quietly gather his magic. He could feel Yuuri’s presence beside him; with all of his senses open, Yuuri’s magic hummed within the edges of his awareness like a live wire.

“Victor,” Mila said quietly into the comms, “Do we engage?”

“Wait,” Victor barely breathed. If they went for it now, the fight would get real ugly real fast; just like any other predatory animal, the coretan would jump to defend its meal with undefinable viciousness. The best moment would be right after it finished when it would sit and savor for a precious thirty seconds.

Under any other circumstances, he didn’t have the best track record with being patient, but he swallowed, held his breath for a beat, and settled in for the wait. Behind him, Yuuri adjusted his own weight when he felt Victor’s stance change. He glanced back at the professor and saw that he’d removed his glasses and stowed them somewhere safely. He looked more intense without them, his eyes dark with singular focus.

Yuuri was _definitely_ a Hunter. Before, Victor had only caught fleeting glimpses of Hunter Yuuri. Victor could absolutely tell now, without the sweater vests and cute little bowties.

Soft Nerd Yuuri was sexy in a cute way.

Hunter Yuuri was sexy in a melt-your-knickers-off way.

God, it almost hurt to look at him he was so gorgeous.

Victor filed that thought away for later and turned his attention back to their quarry just as there was a crunch and an awful tearing sound…and now the corpse was short an arm. There was almost an art to the way the bone got stripped of flesh and nibbled completely clean, and Victor found himself morbidly fascinated by it. The other appendages followed the first in a similar fashion, and the monster seemed to be saving the best for last: the head.

The filleted flesh hanging off the skull was eaten almost delicately before the bone was cracked open like an egg and the slightly mushed brains slurped up. He heard Mila make a low gagging noise while it started to sniff the body for anything it might have missed. Their window was approaching, Victor could see it.

“Victor,” Mila urged. He could practically hear her vibrating, ready to make the first move.

“Almost,” he breathed, then their target began to lick between its claws to get at the leftover tissue and blood, “Now.”

Mila dropped instantaneously, landing silently in a crouch within perfect reach of the tail.

The demon was fast, but Mila was faster.

She had the tail in her grip and she was swinging the flesh-eating monster like it was a baseball bat – a very dangerous, quite angry baseball bat with a wicked barb poking out the end of its tail. Yuuri moved at the same time Victor did, but he didn’t make to summon a weapon. His fingers moved delicately, like he was weaving string. In the air, a deep orange thread followed the patterns of his hands, entangling flailing clawed limbs and a sharp-toothed snout in a tangle of magical string. Victor gaped, his battle-focus faltering for a moment as he stared. A sharp movement caught the pointy end of the tail before it could stick Mila in the small of her back.  

“Thank you,” Mila squeaked.

“You can let go now,” Yuuri said, giving her a nod, and she put a good foot between the twitching appendage and her person. His hands were splayed out in front of him, like the string were actually between his fingers and one twitch would unravel the entire structure, “You might want to kill it quickly. It’s making too much noise.” The coretan growls and squeals and tries to wriggle into position to protect its weak spots. Scaly armor covers just about all of the body except for where the legs are joined to the torso and – for females – around the belly where offspring gestate. There are no scales there, just oil black skin.

Yuuri spreads his hands a little farther apart and the string’s glow goes ominously red when each point of contact visibly tightens. Time is definitely of the essence. Incandescent black smoke – aether – starts to curl between Victor’s fingers and it grows in density as it coalesces in his palm when he wills it into shape. Experience has taught him that a weapon with a curve or hook works best, so the aether gives him a _khopesh_. The hook on the inside edge of the blade catches flesh easily and Victor hauls down and across with a bit of his body weight, breaking apart the armored hide and eviscerating all three hearts. Foul yellow slime pours from the cut and Victor steps back before he can get doused. Their quarry’s dying screech is muffled a bit by the restraints keeping its mouth closed.

When Victor is clear, Yuuri lets his threads vanish and the dead weight of the demon collapses on top of the remains of its last meal.

“Oh godsdammit,” Mila swears when some of the foul blood splashes onto her trousers.

“Sorry,” Yuuri grimaces.

“Getting the smell out will take days,” Mila complained, “It just _had_ to be a corpse eater, didn’t it?”

Victor looked down at his shirt where some of the spray from the initial cut had caught him. The ugly yellow looks especially disgusting against the pitch black of his gear and he resists sighing. He’s grateful that he doesn’t have Mila’s nose, otherwise he’d probably be complaining too.

“Well, that went well,” he said cheerfully smacking his lips, “Shall we?”

When they get back to the club, the analysts from the Agency are casing the place. Photos are still being taken, and they’re still in the process of cleaning up Elisa’s remains. The glass from the windows have been left as is and Chris has been shunted away from the action to let CSI work, he’s the first to greet them when they walk through the gaping hole in the front of the building.

“You three are rather efficient,” Chris comments and his green eyes flick to the minute blood spatter dotting their combat blacks and his nose wrinkles at the smell, “It’s been done then?”

“With extreme prejudice,” Victor confirms brightly, “Really, we owe our efficiency to Yuuri. With just Mila and I, it would’ve taken a little longer to kill it. He was _amazing_.” The professor flushes bright pink.

“Mila did the heavy lifting. Literally,” he says, “I was just riding her coattails.”

“Don’t be modest,” Mila snorted and bumped him with her hip, “Victor’s right. I may have disoriented it, but you opened up access to its weak points. Without you, one of us might’ve gotten injured. Those claws were no joke. Hell, I almost got stung.”

“I was just-“ Yuuri began to protest and Victor wondered why he couldn’t just accept the compliment. Was it a cultural thing?

“Yuuri, honey,” Chris interrupted, “Sometimes it’s okay to just say ‘thank you’. Yes?” he arched one expertly filled eyebrow and Yuuri nodded mutely.

“Aw, you’re so precious,” Mila cooed, pulling Yuuri into a sideways cuddle, “Can we keep you?” Yuuri looked vaguely uncomfortable with the sudden physical contact and his expression quickly became taut with pain.

“Um, Mila,” Victor coughed, “I think you’re squeezing him too tight.”

“Oops,” she released him abruptly and Yuuri gasped, rubbing his ribs, “Sorry about that.”

“As soon as CSI’s done here, I’ll put your club back together for you,” Victor told Chris.

“If you’re sure you can handle it, _mon cher_ ,” Chris frowned, “You just fought a demon.”

“It’s no trouble,” Victor said, “Like I said, thanks to Yuuri it was an easy kill.” He winks at their consultant who just looks embarrassed at the praise.

Chris gives him a skeptical look, but he doesn’t argue any further.

“Victor, Mila, Yuuri,” Georgi says, breaking off from the rest of the analysts, “We’re almost finished up here. We didn’t find much. The place was pretty clean for a club.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Chris says primly.

“Time for me to get started then,” Victor rubs his hands together, white sparks flying off his fingers.

Victor patches the entrance and exit first, since all the rubble hasn’t been largely displaced and the doors are soon in one piece. When he finishes with the back door, he finds that Yuuri has already taken care of the windows and is starting to repair one of the cages that took a rather nasty fall. The warped metal groans when Yuuri directs the bars back into shape and fixes the hinges. Chris is standing back and admiring the view.

“You’re staring,” Victor told him, gesturing at the shattered bar top which starts to put itself back together.

“Like you haven’t stared,” Chris snorted, tilting his head and sighing, “Those trousers do absolutely nothing for his figure.” They’re made of a thick nanofiber that almost looks like canvas, and they balloon a little near the hips. The large cargo pockets don’t help much either.

“They don’t do anything for anybody’s figure, Chris,” Victor chuckled, his eyes more fixed on Yuuri’s strong back and the flex of his biceps through the shirt, “He’s so gorgeous,” Victor whispered. Chris chuckled.

“You know, this reminds me of the day I met you,” Chris began and Victor groans, “You were so young back then. Your seduction technique was sloppy.”

“It still got me free drinks, didn’t it?” Victor snorted.

“Hey guys, what are we talking about?” Mila came up behind them, resting her arms on their shoulders, “Seduction? Espionage? Is there romance?”

“Shhh,” Victor says suddenly, and Mila covers her mouth with her hand. They both look to see if Georgi’s in earshot, but he’s deep in discussion with a CSI while they pack everything away. “Don’t say the r-word,” he whispers. Chris stares at them both.

“Long story,” they say.

They look up when they hear a loud metallic clank and then over at Yuuri who lets out a little huff.

“I think that about does it,” he announces.

There’s still some dirt littering the floor and Chris requested that they leave the scratches in the bricks in the back hallway, so they haven’t touched those.

“I’ve been meaning to renovate a little,” he says, “But I appreciate everything else that you’ve done.”

“Happy to help,” Yuuri smiles and Victor stares for a beat or two because he’s so feckin’ cute.

“I’m all finished here,” Georgi says, coming to stand next to Mila after the last CSI vanishes along with the temporary Transportation Circle.

“I know you still have plenty of work to do,” Chris said, looking between the four of them, “So, I won’t keep you.”

Victor opens a Portal to the hospital, so they can finish taking everybody’s statements.

“Don’t be strangers you two,” Chris said with a wink and a wave, “I meant what I said about those drinks.”

He and the club vanish from sight when Victor and Yuuri step into the main lobby of the local IMC hospital. Mila is already standing at reception, talking to a faintly annoyed-looking vampire in Looney Toon scrubs, while Georgi stands in front of two club employees sitting in the waiting room, jotting down notes in a little book. They’re a little bruised, but they otherwise look fine. At the desk, Mila makes a frustrated noise before reaching into her shirt collar and pulling out her tags.

“That proof enough for you?” she demands. The nurse stands to inspect the tags a little more closely before he sits back down.

“They’re in units 204 through 206. One is in surgery,” he says then waves her away.

“That was like pulling teeth,” Mila grumbles when she steps away from the desk, “I’m covered in demon blood for Hades’ sake.”

“I’m sure he was just being cautious,” Victor says brightly, “Patient confidentiality and all that.”

Georgi is left to finish up with the two employees while the three of them go take care of the others. The ‘units’ are divided by bland pink curtains that don’t provide much privacy and lucky for them there are only three patients, so they can divide and conquer.

Mila takes the bartender who has her arm in a sling, Yuuri takes the bouncer who’s just finishing having glass pulled out of his back and left shoulder, leaving Victor with the dancer who’d almost gotten crushed by a falling cage. Her ankle is wrapped tightly, and she’s scraped up pretty badly. There’s still glitter on her face and in her hair.

“I got lucky,” she said, “Chris and I were discussing the next set when everything went to shit. It happened really fast.”

She tells him how the windows imploded first, and she covered her face with her arms.

“Everybody was freaking out, and then there was another explosion,” she said, “Then something landed in the rafters, I didn’t get a good look, but it was huge. The support beams couldn’t take its weight and next think I know, Chris shoves me right before one of the cages fell.” She goes a little pale as she talks, taking a shaky breath.

“Take your time,” Victor says, his phone held face up in his palm with the voice recorder still going.

“Did that thing kill Elisa?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Victor answered solemnly.

“Damn,” she whispers.

Victor thanks her for her time after a few more questions and steps outside to wait for his colleagues to finish. Mila finishes next, leaning up against the wall next to Victor and crossing her arms, “So far, their statements corroborate. Windows first, demon came in second. It didn’t go for anyone else, just Elisa. So definitely premeditated.”

“He still lost control after,” Victor says, “It’s quite fortunate it went on the hunt for something else. Otherwise, we’d have been cleaning up more than one victim today.”

Yuuri joins them when he’s finished with the bouncer, pulling out his glasses and giving the lenses a quick wipe before he puts them on, “Finished already?” he asked them.

“I think they were eager to be rid of us,” Victor said cheerfully.

“They want to put this whole thing behind them,” Mila shrugged a shoulder, “Can you blame them?”

“I could,” Victor muses, tapping his chin, “But I won’t.” Mila rolls her eyes and Victor winks at Yuuri.

“Let’s just grab Georgi and get out of here,” Mila grouches, “I’m overdue for a shower.”

**~ T ~**

Victor has a rather hard time concentrating in the communal showers at their St. Petersburg gym (er…pun not quite intended). The stall next to him is occupied by one very wet and very naked professor and trying not to think about it is like trying not to think about pink elephants when somebody says ‘Don’t think about pink elephants’.

He tries thinking of their impromptu hunt instead, but his memories of the event inevitably include how intense Yuuri looked in that alleyway.

He glares down at his lower body when his interest starts to manifest physically.

 _Now is not the time_ , he berated. It’s perfectly fine to get an erection when he’s at home in his own shower, by his lonesome where he’s able to take care of it. Here, where the acoustics are better than any concert hall? Not a chance. They haven’t even held hands yet! He doesn’t know if Yuuri is even _interested_ in sex.

He likes Yuuri too much to scare him off.

Victor tilts his head back to direct his face into the spray, squinching his eyes shut and forces his brain to think of something decidedly unsexy and the unfortunate memory of his great aunt Adelaide in a catsuit from that one decidedly unpleasant Halloween causes his libido to die a violent and (hopefully) temporary death. He shudders and finishes his shower quickly.

The shower in Yuuri’s stall shuts off when Victor’s in the middle of redressing. He refuses to look when the curtain pulls back or when he hears the soft sound of wet feet on tile.

“I feel a lot better now,” Yuuri comments, “and I wasn’t even in the splash zone.”

His resolve lasts all of two seconds and Victor chances a peek from his peripherals and has to contain the noise that threatens to burst out of him when he gets a glimpse of the gloriousness that is Yuuri’s naked backside.

“Well now at least Mila won’t complain too much about the smell,” Victor replied.

“Can you blame her?” Yuuri asked.

“Nope,” Victor said succinctly. He rubs at his neck with his towel again when his still-damp hair threatens to drip water down his shirt collar.

When they get back to the office, Victor reports to Yakov’s office and the Assistant Director listens to the clinical re-telling of events slightly narrowed eyes.

“You need to catch him, and catch him quick,” he says, “If Katsuki’s theory is true, then he’s got more resources at his fingertips than we realized. And he might grow more unstable.”

“So, you admit then, that hiring Yuuri was a good idea?” Victor said. Yakov let out an exasperated noise and took off his glasses to level Victor with a stern look.

“Don’t be smug,” Yakov growled, “The body count is still rising under your watch. I suggest you solve this, and you solve it quickly. The Council is starting to consider pulling your team off the case entirely and assign it to another Unit.” Victor snorts.

“’Starting’? They’re hoping I fuck this up, and you know it,” he says, “Besides, they’d have to run it by Lilia first. Her department, her say. And I doubt she’d even agree to a meeting with those chucklefucks let alone a last-minute change in who’s running this case.”

Yakov rubs at the major wrinkle on his forehead – the one that always looks cavernously deep when he frowns (which is basically all the time) – and sighs, “Even so, I wouldn’t recommend letting him take another victim, Victor. Find him, end him and his pet. Soon. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Victor says.

He sincerely hates politics and the fact that the Council thinks that Victor values their opinion. He got this far by deferring to Lilia and his immediate colleagues, not the stuffed shirts who had fooled themselves into thinking they were gods.

 _Every time they get rid of one idiot they replace it with another_ , was a favorite rant of Lilia’s. Her frustration with the European Council of Directors was legendary in their department and one of the first things he’d learned about the head bitch herself when he signed on for this.

Victor wondered if the North American branch’s politics were anything like this.

“So, how’d it go?” Mila sang from her desk.

“Better than I expected,” Victor replied cheerfully, “But, he does want us to get a move on.”

“Hard to do that when we don’t even know who this asshole is,” Mila said, spinning around in her chair, “Anybody feel like lunch? I’m in the mood for Greek.”

“I want sushi,” Georgi said.

“Well, _I_ want a gyro,” Mila retorted, “And since it’s _my_ turn to treat, I get to pick.”

“What’s a gyro?” Yuuri asked.

“Okay, we have to take him out for Greek,” Mila declared, “Victor, my liege, do you concur?”

“I do, my good woman,” Victor nodded.

“Huzzah!” Mila fist-pumped. Georgi pouted.

Really, they should have been taking a working lunch, but today had been particularly taxing and now they were even more pressed for time. It would be good for them to step back for an hour, recharge, and then get back to it. And then _hopefully_ , they could finally put a stop to all of this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to format and edit on mobile is a bitch, lemme tell you.  
> Hope you all had a nice holiday season, 'cause I certainly didn't and at least one of us had a good time right?  
> I'm not sure how many of you know of or have heard of 5-11 cargo trousers but that's basically what I pictured when writing the bit where Victor and Chris are checking Yuuri out.  
> I've been told that I'm horrible at accepting compliments. Something Yuuri and I apparently have in common. 
> 
> Demonology in the Lux 'verse:  
> Peletan comes from the word "pelt" or the Latin word for skin "pellis" while etan is an Old English word for "eat" or "to consume". Literally "to consume skin".  
> Coretan comes from the word "corpse" and the Old English word "etan". Thus, "to consume corpses". A distant, more primitive cousin of the peletan species.
> 
> As usual, your support continues to astound me. I hope all of you start 2019 with good cheer! :3


	10. Clean Up in Aisle Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: archive warning for violence applies.

_April 2019; European Branch Headquarters - Geneva_

Victor leaned in closer to the monitor, his eyes narrowing at the grainy footage. He made a mental note to tell Chris to invest in a better security system for his club, cameras included.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, “We were in that exact spot.”

Their summoner – Mila had dubbed him Mr. Suit – had wrapped himself in an airtight glamour that made him look like he was cloaked in shadow. On the screen, the coretan demon manifested from the asphalt just a few feet from the club in front of Mr. Suit. There hadn’t been any evidence of a summoning ritual there – no circle, no blood, no evidence of a sacrifice of any kind.

“He must have performed the ritual elsewhere,” Georgi said next to him around a mouthful of sushi. He’s using a singular chopstick to stab each piece before lifting them to his mouth. If Yuri were there he’d have been screaming about Georgi’s smacking in his ear, but the teen hadn’t been seen in the office for several days. Victor got the feeling he was being avoided, but all the better. If he were here, then Yuri would be demanding that he tag along absolutely everywhere, and a seventeen-year-old intern had no business getting involved in a high-stakes case like this.

“And then what? Stashed the demon in his pocket?” Yuuri asked.

“Mm,” Victor murmured, focusing on the screen, “Mila go back a few frames.”

She clicks back to just before the coretan manifested, “Can you enhance it there at all?” he asked.

“I can try,” she murmured, “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Some sort of container,” Victor said, “Sealing demons in containers is quite an old practice, but if our perp is a descendent of the Aristocracy, then he’ll have access to all sorts of archaic magic.”

“How old are we talking?” Mila snorted, “Because you call _yourself_ ‘old’ and you’re considered a baby by Warlock standards.”

“The IMC outlawed it in the seventeenth century,” Victor said, straightening and crossing his arms, “During the Thirty Years’ War, the French army secretly recruited a group of mages to help them win the war by creating a weapon of mass destruction.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t mean nukes,” Mila muttered.

“They attempted to summon a demon and bind its power to some specially forged sword,” Victor said, “Long story short, it went tits up and the war went on the books as one of the deadliest conflicts in both magical and mundane history.”

“Demonic energy is incredibly unstable,” Yuuri said, “You’d need a pretty solid medium to contain it.”

“And _that_ , kids, is why we don’t give humans magic demon swords,” Mila said, holding up a finger.

“Well, between the traveling and the sealing magic, that rules out any witch families,” Georgi said, and pops another piece of sushi in his mouth, abandoning the chopsticks entirely and using his fingers instead.

“So, we might be dealing with a Warlock that’s four-hundred years old?” Yuuri asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. The thought is quite daunting. Victor and Yuuri both are a few years from being considered mature among their own kind. Usually, the older the Warlock the more skilled at magic and adept at combat they are.

“It’s certainly a possibility,” Victor said, shrugging a shoulder, “Would explain his lack of awareness when it comes to CCTV.”  

“Well, whatever the hell it is he used to seal it, it’s hard to make out,” Mila rose out of her chair a little bit to squint at the screen, “I think it’s a tin? It’s definitely small. I can’t enhance it any further.”

“Small enough to carry in his pocket?” Victor said, shooting Yuuri an amused look who facepalmed.

“I’m not gonna live that one down, am I?” he asked quietly.

“Well, you turned out to be right,” Victor chuckled, “so, I’m definitely leaning towards ‘maybe not’.”  

The phone rings and Mila deftly plucked it from its cradle and holds it to her ear, “Babicheva,” she greets and listens for a moment, “Gotcha. We’ll be right down.” She hangs up and stands from her chair, “Field trip!”

“Ooh, to where?” Victor asked excitedly.

“Intelligence,” Mila said, “We have a call waiting for us.”

They take the elevator down to the first sublevel, which is where the newsroom (as they like to call it) is located. It takes up the majority of the floor, manned by at least one-hundred Intelligence Officers wearing headsets and fielding reports from agents all over Europe. On a raised platform just below the observation deck where Victor and his team are standing, is the head dispatcher who looks up when she notices them standing by.

“Room two-oh-three,” she tells them, “down the hall to your left, hang a right.”

“Thanks,” Mila said, giving her a wave.

The conference room is small and there’s a Glass taking up the entirety of the far wall at the foot of the conference table. On the other side of the Glass is a young man wearing a faded comic book t-shirt leaning up against a desk decorated with all sorts of figurines, at least two large mugs, and an assortment of photos. He’s got his head down, attention directed at the tablet he has tucked against his forearm.

Victor cleared his throat, “You called?”

The young man gives a start, fumbling the tablet, “Oh, um, sorry about that. Hi. Yes. I’m Leo de la Iglesia, I’m an Intelligence Officer with the North American Branch. Are you the primary Unit heading the Heretic Investigation?”

 _We’re the_ only _Unit_ , Victor almost says.

“That’s us,” Mila nodded, “I’m Agent Babicheva, this is Victor Nikiforov, Georgi Popovich our analyst, and Yuuri Katsuki our consultant.”

Leo gives them all a smile and a nod, “Nice to meet you.”

“Whatcha got for us?” Mila asked.

“Your guy’s name is Eric Chevalier,” Leo said, and tapped the tablet tucked against his forearm. An image of their perp’s California driver’s license appeared on the periphery of the Glass; the lighting is awful, and the photo is ugly (all driver’s license photos are) but it’s most definitely their perp – unsmiling, dark hair, and mismatched eyes staring wall-eyed into the camera.  

“Chevalier,” Georgi muttered slowly, tapping his cheek, “That sounds familiar.”

“I did some digging,” Leo nodded, “The Chevalier clan used to be a minor noble house, hardly had any pull with the IMC but they had some clout in the French royal court before the French Revolution. They fled Paris when the king was executed, and they ended up in the US.”  

“And leaving behind all their fancy human friends to get guillotined in the process,” Mila deadpanned, “Nice.”

“Eric is the last surviving son,” Leo continued, “his parents died about thirty years ago. We would’ve found him sooner if we’d combed human databases first. The only record of him magically is a birth certificate with an IMC hospital in San Francisco. He runs a small tech company based in Silicon Valley, pays taxes, owns property on both coastlines, he even had a human wife.”

He sounded so…ordinary. So dreadfully, well, mundane.

“Wait, ‘ _had_ a wife’?” Victor asked, “Past tense?”

“She and their two sons, eighteen months and three years old, died in a pretty bad crash about four years ago,” Leo said, and an article replaced the driver’s license, with an image of a nasty pile-up captured by a local news helicopter underneath the bolded headline ‘Four Dead and Two Injured in Deadly Crash on I-280’.

“The kids hadn’t even manifested yet,” Yuuri muttered frowning at the Glass. Georgi lets out a sad little noise and Victor absently pats him consolingly on the shoulder. Yes, it’s quite tragic, but it’s hard for him to feel sorry for a man who’s killed six innocent people.

“ _This_ photo included in the article is what popped up first when we started running facial recognition through mundane sources,” Leo said, “We wouldn’t have known his name otherwise.” he scrolled through the article until he came to a stop on a family photo. Victor would guess that it was taken shortly before the untimely death of Mr. Suit’s family. The late Mrs. Chevalier looks positively aglow with her newest baby son cradled on her lap and her husband beside her holding their toddler. Her coloring is similar to Arianna’s – chestnut hair, and olive-tinted skin – though that’s where the similarities end.

Victor exchanges a mildly disturbed look with Mila who probably had the same thought he did.

“I think he may have developed feelings for her,” Yuuri had said. Well now they knew: it was because Arianna bore a slight resemblance to the late Mrs. Chevalier. And he’d killed her anyway.

“Does he have a primary address?” Mila asked.

“I’m sending you all that info right now,” Leo said, looking down at his tablet and Mila’s phone dings with a notification. “Good luck, guys.”

“Thank you so much,” Victor said, and the Glass went dark when the connection was cut.

Mila doesn’t look up from her phone all the way back up to the office, frowning as she reads the article that Leo had found. “According to this,” she says lowly, “a runaway semi clipped a passing vehicle, it spun out of control and caused a chain reaction that led to a six-car pile-up just outside of the San Francisco city limits. The two kids died instantly, but she bled out. Looks like we might have motive.”

“Revenge?” Georgi asked, picking up his abandoned mug and wrinkling his nose after taking a sip.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Victor said, “He’d have gone after the culprit, which would be the truck driver and, perhaps, the company they worked for and this case never would’ve happened. Instead, he’s killing Ward witches who had absolutely nothing to do with his family’s death.”

“Unless he’s cooking up something big,” Mila said, “Like a ‘I curse your entire bloodline’ type thing?” Victor taps his mouth thoughtfully and puts himself in Eric’s shoes. _What would I do?_ he thought, _What would I do if it were me in his place?_

Really, Makkachin’s been his only family for quite some time now and one of the few sources of happiness in his life. Knowing him, if Makka died he’d just –

“Yuuri,” he says suddenly, “Is it possible that the magic he’s collecting could be used to revive his family?” all three of his comrades stop to stare at him with varying degrees of surprise and/or horror.

“Oh my God,” Georgi muttered. Yuuri’s cinnamon eyes are wide with alarm.

“No,” Yuuri said definitively, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Even with a demon lending its power to assist?” Victor asked. Yuuri sighed and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

“One of the fundamental pillars of Ward magic is _understanding_ ,” he said, “As much as we try to, we can never really fully comprehend death until we experience it. And a soul that’s basically dead can’t be bound to the land of the living. It just wouldn’t work. The attempt would backfire and kill him.”

Mila raised her hand, “Anybody wondering why in the hell he’d go after Ward witches if he was trying to reanimate his dead wife and children? Mance witches like Georgi have an affinity for stuff like that. It would make more sense to harvest their magic or hire a Mance witch to do the deed for him.”

“I have an idea,” Victor said brightly, clapping his hands together, “Why don’t we ask him?”

**~ T ~**

The sun has not yet risen in California and the posh white house on the equally posh street where Eric Chevalier lives is completely dark; the property is only illuminated by the weak light reflecting off the surface of the almost full moon hanging in the sky. He can’t detect a barrier, or any kind of magical security. There’s a buzzer at the gate, and sensors for the electronic remote that Chevalier probably carries with him when he leaves the house.

Getting inside is child’s play.

“Anybody else _really_ creeped out right now?” Mila muttered.

“I am,” Georgi raised his hand.

“You’d think he’d be more paranoid,” Yuuri said, frowning at their surroundings, “Think about it: wouldn’t you want to install extra security for situations like this?” he gestures at them in their combat blacks.

“Perhaps he’s just arrogant,” Victor shrugged a shoulder.

Victor is grateful that Mr. Suit isn’t the type to have lush extravagant gardens. There are no trees in the front yard, just a wide-open expanse of half-dead grass that leaves them exposed but provides no cover for anyone or anything that may or may not attempt to sneak up on them. Still, a sense of foreboding steals its way into his insides and there’s a small part of him that’s very much against entering the house. At the foot of the porch steps, he allows the aether to curl between his fingers.

“So,” Mila begins conversationally, “who wants to go inside the creepy house first? Any takers?”

Predictably, no one volunteered. Now that they were closer to the front door, that off feeling just got a little stronger and Victor was certain that a presence hung over the property. It made all the little hairs on his body stand at attention and his stomach curdle with dread.

“Yuuri,” he said, “Can you put up a barrier around the house? If he makes a break for it, I don’t want him to get far.” He looked at the professor, who blended in almost perfectly into the shadow cast by the house with his midnight hair and (better fitting) combat blacks. Yuuri stepped back from the porch and turned his back to the house and traced a circle in the air in front of him. The burning pink line that followed his finger cast an eerie light on the porch while the Warlock’s lips moved indistinctly. As soon as the circle touched the ground it began to expand – presumably until it encompassed the whole house – then flashed a deeper shade of pink before the glow faded but the impression of a line in the gravel was still there.  

“The barrier won’t come down unless I tell it to,” Yuuri said.  

“Good,” Victor nodded, and turned to look at the silhouettes of his comrades and reiterated what they had agreed on back at headquarters, “We’ll split into two teams. Georgi and Yuuri, you’ll search the first floor. Mila and I will take the second. If you find Chevalier, take him into custody if possible; if not, use necessary force. And the demon is to be taken out. No questions.”

“Understood,” they agreed.

“Stay vigilant,” he said, “Let’s go.”

The front door was locked, but Victor remedied that easily with a bit of persuasion from his magic. Wan moonlight trickles in behind them and illuminates the opulent antique marble and glitters off the unnecessarily gaudy crystal chandelier hanging over their heads. That same antique marble forms a staircase off to their right, leading up to the second floor. Victor can just make out antique paintings and decorative cases full of baubles.

He finds a light switch, but nothing happens when he flips it.

“Figures,” he mutters, glaring into the dark before he snapped his fingers.

There’s a distant hum from the breakers when all the light switches are tripped, and the house is illuminated in all its Rococo luxury. Just across the foyer, he sees that Georgi has conjured a firearm from the aether and he’s holding it with both hands, the muzzle of the small handgun pointed at the floor. Yuuri hasn’t summoned a weapon yet, but he’s clearly on edge. When he turns to meet Victor’s eyes, they exchange a nod before their teams split up.

Victor can see a fine layer of dust on the banister, and the odd beginnings of several cobwebs in the nooks and crannies of a few of the light fixtures. Whatever cleaning staff that Chevalier used to employ, they were probably fired recently, most likely shortly after the first kill.

Next to him, Mila paused, and Victor stopped to look at her. But she was looking over the railing at the foyer below where the front door was quietly sliding closed. He couldn’t hear the squeak of the hinges from here – but she most definitely could, and she had a weapon conjured and drawn. “I really hope that’s an automatic thing,” she breathed.

“Victor? Mila?” Georgi asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Mila said quickly, “The front door closed by itself. I’m just being paranoid.”

“I didn’t detect any trace enchantment on the door,” Yuuri says slowly, beating Victor to the punch, “Victor?”

“Nope,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at the length of staircase behind them. “ _Fumus detego_ ,” he whispered, and blew a stream of air through his closed fist and a fine red smoke came through the other end. It spilled down the stairs and across the foyer. There’s no color change, no sign of any footprints belonging to a creepy invisible man. “Clear. But keep a sharp eye,” he mutters.

“Copy that,” Yuuri said.  

“This house is seriously giving me the creeps,” Georgi declared.  

At the landing, they see that the lounge area is empty. The fireplace is cold, the TV is off, and there’s no one on the patio beyond the French doors. They turn left towards the master bedroom, which is at the end of the hall according to the floor plans they found for this property, and when they get there they find it empty. Of fucking course.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” Mila grumbled, “Gosha, Yuuri, you find anything yet?”

“Just a lot of dusty paintings,” Georgi said, “and a spider or two. We’re about to sweep the kitchen and dining area.”

They leave the master bedroom and start opening other doors to see if he’s hiding in any of the other bedrooms. Most of them are completely empty and smell unused. They find the rooms where the Chevalier children used to stay, well preserved and slightly dusty and there’s still toys scattered all over the floor of the playroom.

“Jeez,” Mila murmured.

And then they find something a little creepier.

A study decorated with books, a few old paintings, and antique porcelain dolls. Victor doesn’t really think about it at first, but then Mila shivers and he remembers that she _really_ doesn’t like dolls. Based on the scattered half-empty sticker sheets and a bag of dollar store lollipops, this was Mrs. Chevalier’s study and it too has been preserved.

“Looks like you and the late Mrs. Chevalier have something in common, Yuuri,” Victor half-jokes, “you’re both teachers.” He hears a little huff of amusement over the comms.

“How can you tell?” Yuuri asked. Victor opened his mouth to reply, about to reach for what looks like a dusty old gradebook.

“Victor,” Mila says abruptly, tugging hard on his sleeve and he straightens to look at her then follows her line of sight to the porcelain doll with yellow hair on one of the bookshelves. She’s held upright on a metal stand, her little Victorian dress covered in a light layer of dust and there’s a string of spider silk between her arm and the base of the stand. She’s also looking directly at them. 

“Was it-?” Victor begins to ask, pointing to the doll and exponentially growing more disturbed by the glassy unblinking eyes that are so obviously staring the two of them down. It doesn’t make any other moves, probably because it’s on the second shelf from the top and a fall would shatter it.

“Nope,” Mila interrupted, blue eyes wide, “No it wasn’t.” in his peripherals he can see movement and he looks just in time to see another doll’s head slowly swivel until its glassy eyes are fixed in their direction. What the actual fuck-?

“What is it?” Yuuri asked, his voice tight with concern over the comms, “What’s going on, Victor? Mila?”

They both step out of the study and Mila shuts the door with a little too much force. The bang echoes through the empty hallway and they stand there for a brief moment in mildly disturbed silence.

“That,” Mila says decisively, “was fucking nightmare fuel.”

“Agreed,” Victor said. On the other side of the closed door there’s a thump and a loud knock that makes them jump, “I think I should seal the door.”

“Please do,” Mila nodded insistently. Victor casts sticking charms on the lock and the seams of the door.  

“Guys,” Yuuri says urgently in their ears, “What happened? Did you find something?”

“Just a study full of sentient dolls,” Mila said and shivered, “Too creepy.”

“Study full of _what?_ ” Georgi blurted.

“I am _not_ saying it again,” Mila said, “I don’t even wanna think about it. I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Jesus skateboarding on the back of a pterodactyl _Christ_ I’m starting to really hate this house.”

Victor may or may not now understand Mila’s deep-seated hatred of dolls.

They find another study that’s populated with just books, a fireplace, a desk, and an ancient printer (and no creepy dolls). There’s hardly any dust in here, and it’s a mess. There’s an old-fashioned fountain pen sitting on top of a pile of half-finished notes and Victor leans close to see that the pen is still loaded with ink and the well hasn’t been capped. This room has been very recently abandoned and they begin a more thorough sweep of the study.

“Hold on,” Mila said and crouched by the fireplace, “there’s no airflow through here. And there should be.” She glances back at him over her shoulder and the ‘you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?’ goes unsaid but it’s very clearly implied.

The trigger is the ornamental clock on the mantlepiece, making the fireplace – bit of wall and all – swing inwards like a door. The inside of the secret corridor is definitely fancier than the other secret passages that Victor has crawled through in the past. There’s no frigid stone walls or ominous cobwebs or colonies of bats, it’s white walls and the same champagne colored marble that leads down into a workshop.

“Secret passageway behind the fireplace,” Victor deadpanned, “How cliché can you get?”

“Please tell me you’re not actually going to go inside,” Georgi pleaded over the comms, “Remember what happened last time?” Victor clicks his tongue at that.

“That was different,” he said.

“ _How?_ How is it any different, Victor?” Georgi demanded. Victor can’t see him, but he’d bet ten American dollars that he has his hands planted on his hips.

“Last time was obviously a trap. And there were _bats_ ,” Victor said, already walking inside, “This isn’t dirty or smelly at all. And I have Mila with me.”

“Don’t worry Georgi, I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Mila says cheerfully.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Georgi complained, “Why are you two like this? You give me anxiety. You see what I have to put up with Yuuri?”

“No stone unturned, right?” Yuuri said tentatively and Georgi made a frustrated noise.

When they get to the bottom of the stairs, they linger on the edge of the workshop where Eric Chevalier is in obvious distress. There’s old books scattered everywhere, at least two overturned cauldrons (and one in the midst of an alarming meltdown), and shattered glass. There’s a worktop covered in glassware with one odd-looking overgrown potted plant shoved to the corner. Victor and Mila exchange a look before Victor clears his throat.

“Not now,” Chevalier snaps, frowning into the tome he’s frantically scanning. The growth on his jaw and neck is unkempt and patchy like he’s been yanking and scratching at the hair while it was growing in. There’s an unhealthy pallor to his skin that reminds Victor of cold oatmeal and he doesn’t look like he’s been getting a lot of sleep. Victor’s a little disappointed that they don’t get to see the cool-headed businessman they’ve been catching glimpses of on all those surveillance cameras, but at the same time feels a bit of vindictive satisfaction that Eric Chevalier has obviously been suffering.

“I’m afraid we’re on a schedule, Mr. Chevalier,” Victor says pleasantly and conjures a Suppression bracelet. The summoner freezes and slowly looks up from the dusty book in his hands to stare wide-eyed at the two Exorcists blocking his only exit, giving Victor and Mila a good look at his mismatched eyes, “So, be a dear and come quietly, won’t you?”

Chevalier swallows and closes the old book with a quiet snap, “You’re Exorcists.”

“Well done,” Victor smiles, and conjures one of the sticker sheets he saw upstairs, holding it up between the fingers of his free hand, “How about a gold star?”

“Victor,” Georgi quietly says in his ear, “I think we found something.”

“You can’t arrest me,” Chevalier says after licking his lips. Victor and Mila exchange another look.

“Wanna bet?” Victor asked.

In less than a heartbeat, Mila has Chevalier slammed into the worktop of his lab bench with his arms uncomfortably wrenched behind his back. The Warlock struggles and curses against Mila’s iron grip, but the Suppression cuffs are quickly locked into place and they flash red when they’re activated.

“Fine work, Milochka,” Victor clapped, “Now, what’ve you got Gosha?”

“It looks like some sort of urn,” Georgi says, “In a…salt circle?”

“It’s a Trap Matrix,” Yuuri said. Victor raises his eyebrows at that.  

“Old-fashioned,” he comments, “but effective.” A little sample of the person or thing you’re trying to capture and voile! They’re stuck indefinitely until the caster releases it. He remembers being made to drill drawing the damn things when he was in school and even now his fingers ache with phantom cramps. Urgh. 

“I think,” Yuuri says slowly, “the demon is in the urn.”

“Wait…what?” Victor blurts, “Why would it be in the urn?”

“What’s this?” Mila asked, getting Victor’s attention. She’s pulled up the sleeve of Chevalier’s shirt, allowing Victor to see the ugly mottled burn mark high up on his forearm. He gestures to Mila to let him up – it’s not like he can do a lot of damage with his magic cut off and his reflexes are inferior to hers anyway. Chevalier gives him a dirty look and tries to shrug Mila off.

“I’d like you to answer my colleague’s question,” Victor said tightly, “and for you to tell us what the _hell_ is going on here.”

“It’s the contract I made with Ga’mal,” Chevalier answered, raising his eyes to look at Victor, “or what’s left of it.”

“Why would you try to destroy the contract?” Victor asked, raising an eyebrow, “It’s the only thing keeping it under your control.”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Chevalier said grimly, “I was trying to tell you a minute ago: Ga’mal went rogue. When I tried to invoke its name, it didn’t work.”

“It gave you a false name,” Victor said. His insides had felt like they were filled with lead before, now it feels like they’re encased in cold concrete and filled with lead. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that tells him they have a very small window of time to escape unscathed, and a much louder one that sounds like Yakov saying that they have a job to do.

“I tried to seal it,” Chevalier continued, “I don’t know how long the spell will hold.”

And now Yuuri and Georgi are standing right next to Chevalier’s ticking time bomb downstairs.

Victor looks at Mila who nods to the door.

“Go,” Mila said, “Once he’s secure I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yuuri, Georgi, I’m coming to you,” Victor says urgently into the comms, taking the stairs two at a time, “Has the circle been disturbed at all?”

“It’s still completely intact. We’re in the western end of the house,” Yuuri says, “hang a left when you get past the foyer, there’s a set of double doors down the hall on the right.”

“Copy that,” Victor sighed, tearing out of the not-so-secret entrance into the study and then out into the hallway. He half-jogs back to the stairs and slides down the banister, hitting the ground floor at nearly a run and he can feel Yuuri and Georgi both within the perimeters of his senses. The presence hanging over the house becomes more menacing and Victor feels his stomach twist as he gets bombarded with ‘You’re most unwelcome here’ vibes. The aether sees fit to bestow a firearm in response to the threat like it has for two of his colleagues. The .45 Colt sits comfortably in his palm, the black grip solid and cool and he keeps his finger off the trigger…for now.

Yuuri and Georgi are standing in what looks like a small personal library though there’s been a large space cleared out on the floor, leaving shelves cluttered together and office furniture shoved haplessly in a corner. He sniffs, getting the faintest whiff of rotten eggs.

“Sulphur,” he muses aloud. Yuuri and Georgi both jump and take defensive positions, the latter with his Glock pointed at Victor’s head. “Sorry about that, it’s just me,” Victor apologized, raising his hands.

“You and your ninja kitty feet,” Georgi wheezes, pressing a hand to his heart after he lowers the gun, “I swear to Hades, Victor.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Victor said, lowering his hands.

Yuuri lets out a quiet sigh and relaxes minutely while Victor approaches the edge of the salt ring. It was indeed intact, if a little misshapen. The matrix inside looks like it was hastily drawn with magic marker with the antique (and probably expensive) decorative urn planted in the center.

“Was it cracked like that before?” Victor asked, squinting at the fissures in the paint.

“Yeah,” Yuuri nodded and took in a shaky breath, “You said it gave Chevalier a false name?”

“That’s what he told us,” Victor said, taking a step back lest he sneeze and disrupt the salt, “It’s smart. A little loophole in case it wanted out. And it _definitely_ wanted out.”

“So, how do we do this then?” Georgi asked, taking a stance at the edge of the salt circle and pointing his gun at the urn, “Clearly it’s higher level, we might need backup for this.”

“I could tighten the matrix,” Yuuri suggested, his hands already moving, “keep it contained until Mila gets here and we form a plan of attack.”

Victor feels the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he frowns. His lips part and he goes to turn-

At first, his brain doesn’t quite register it. And then he looks down and there are _claws_ sticking out of him, just narrowly missing his belly button.

 _Huh_ , he thinks, _that’s odd_.

“VICTOR!” Yuuri shouts.

 _This is ridiculous_ , he thinks, _I haven’t gotten stabbed in…twenty years?_

“Oh wow,” he muttered, his breathing starting to come in sharp staccato bursts.

He can barely register the sounds of his colleagues panicking – Mila over the comms unit, Georgi and Yuuri drawing their weapons. Power boils under his skin and rises against the intrusion like an immune response and there’s a sizzling flash followed by a howling screech and the claws are yanked free. He grunts and presses his hand tight to his stomach. Warmth spreads along his side and down his hip and he frowns at the dark little drops on the floor by his toes.

 _Wait_ , he remembers, _that’s my blood. Right?_

“How rude,” he tries to laugh, turning slowly to look at the demon who’d snuck up behind him. This would be the third demon he’s ever seen strong enough to assume a humanoid form. It’s completely hairless with eyes too big for its face and a twisted little nose. The arm attached to the claws that stabbed him is completely charred and still smoking underneath the remains of the borrowed shirt that probably came from Chevalier’s closet. “You know, a man expects you to wine and dine him first before you go straight for penetration,” Victor tells it.  

Furious black eyes stare him down and its alien features are twisted with rage when it straightens to its full height. Victor hears a gun – Georgi’s no doubt – and the demon twitches to avoid the bullet, baring shark teeth in annoyance. The study is starting to go a bit hazy and he feels so…tired? That can’t be right. He’s too _pissed_ to be tired. His magic is still cooking underneath the charbroiled flesh coating the demon’s arm and Victor wills it to burrow deep and _burn_.

The resulting screams sound like they’re coming from outside a fish bowl. There’s wetness soaking into the waistband of his briefs and a smear of red coats his palm where he has it pressed to his abdomen.

_Hey wait. I need that stuff, don’t I?_

Arms encircle him from behind and his weight is being guided to the floor before his knees can give out entirely underneath him. The voice muttering shaky assurances behind him is attached to the arms and he frowns.

“Yuuri?” he asked blinking up at the ceiling (huh, whoever decorated this house _loved_ cherubs. He doesn’t much care for it really. Naked baby angels? Not his style.) and his head lolls to the side when he finds the beautiful professor kneeling at his side, “Are you crying?”

“No,” Yuuri says, his hands reach towards Victor’s middle, “Lie still, okay?”

“’M I gonna die, Yuuri?” Victor slurs, his eyelids get heavier each time he blinks, and he tries to hold them open. _Count the naked baby angels, Vitya._ He can’t feel the cool air on his exposed stomach, he can’t feel the warm trickle of his own blood. He can’t even feel the pain anymore, which he’s totally fine with.

“No,” Yuuri answers, sitting back on his heels, “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.” The cherubs are just peachy blobs on a pastel blur now and he blinks.

“Good,” Victor tries to nod, but he’s so sleepy, “Can’ take you on that date if ‘m dead.”

He doesn’t hear what Yuuri says next.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the part of the brain responsible for pain/pleasure/touch is called the parietal lobe. Who says fanfiction isn't edumacational? 
> 
> You may have noticed several things: dolls kinda creep me out, Victor came down with a bad case of stab-itis, and I don't speak Latin. Any moment now, I feel like that one Roman soldier from Life of Brian is going to appear in my living room, grab my ear, and lecture me on proper conjugation. I used Google Translate for Victor's revealing smoke spell, but feel free to be that one Roman soldier and give me corrections for it. 
> 
> A Glass is sort of like a magic mirror. Like for Skype but cooler.  
> For more info on witches and Warlocks you can always visit my tumblr. 
> 
> This chapter took much longer than I originally anticipated, partially because job hunting sucks, mostly because I just suck.  
> Oh, and because someone asked: ROS stands for Retired On Standby; RED stands for Retired Ex-vivo Diurnal (aka permanently retired).  
> Laters!


	11. Good Reasons for Stocking Up on Duct Tape

_April 2019; European Branch Med-Ward - Geneva_

“…'A tiny golden-purple bird stirred in the thick bed of ashes on top of the clay bricks, as if it were waking for the first time. It made a high-pitched _peep!_ and it looked directly into the sun, as an infant looks at a parent. It stretched its wings as if to dry them, and, eventually, when it was quite ready, it flew upward, toward the sun, and nobody watched it leave but the young man in the courtyard.'”

The smooth cadence of Yuuri reading aloud in English makes his chest all fluttery, followed by an inexplicable warm feeling when he thinks, _He stayed_. He doesn’t open his eyes just yet, content to listen to his voice.

“What book is that?” he asked quietly when Yuuri pauses to turn a page, “I don’t think I’ve read it.” The professor is sitting by his bedside in one of those horribly uncomfortable hospital chairs holding a well-loved paperback and still dressed in his combat gear.

Holy Aphrodite he sounds like he’s been eating gravel for the past three days and – he absently smacks his lips – he has the _worst_ case of cotton mouth. Ugh.

“ _M is for Magic_ ,” Yuuri said and Victor huffs a laugh, “I thought it was appropriate.”

“As usual, you have excellent taste, Dr. Katsuki,” Victor smiled and smacked his lips again. Yuuri reaches for a juice box, unwrapping the straw and all before handing it over and while Victor gratefully sips at it, Yuuri pulls out his phone and shoots off a text.

“Letting Mila and Georgi know that you’re awake,” he explained, hitting ‘send’ and tucking his phone away, “they should be on their way back anyway. Here, you should eat. Get your blood sugar back up.” He hands Victor a little Ziploc bag filled with very familiar chocolate chip cookies and that warm fuzzy feeling from earlier comes back tenfold.

“Are these-?” he begins to ask and Yuuri nods.

“I, uh, made a phone call,” he looks a little embarrassed, “Celestino loves to bake, and Jade- _sensei_ didn’t mind making the trip.”

Victor opens the bag and the smell makes his stomach grumble a little bit, “Thank you. This is the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Yuuri laughs. Victor gives him a serious look.

“Shush,” Victor said and made a scolding gesture with the cookie in his hand before taking a bite, “Mmmm.” Yuuri chuckled.

“You’re welcome.”

Victor polished off one cookie and reached for another, “How long was I out?”

“About twelve hours,” Yuuri said, “So not long.” He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, and he’s a little pale. The department jacket Victor loaned him is draped over the back of his chair and the sleeves of his nanofiber shirt have been hiked up. Victor can still make out a pink tint underneath Yuuri’s fingernails – blood. Victor’s blood. Suddenly, Celestino’s amazing cookies taste like ashes in his mouth.

The door to his room opens to admit the rest of his Unit along with an unexpected addition. Victor smiles and sits up a little straighter in bed, “Makka!” the poodle is already en route to his bedside, rising up on his hindlegs and placing his front paws on the lip of the hospital bed so he can shower Victor with slobbery kibble-breath kisses. “Such a good boy,” Victor coos, smooshing Makka’s brown curls and scratching him affectionately behind his floppy ears, “Daddy’s sorry for making you worry. I missed you lots, yes I did.”

“He looked so sad when he saw us and not you,” Mila said, “we couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Thank you,” Victor looked up at her before glancing at Yuuri, “Yuuri, this is Makkachin. Makkachin, this is Yuuri.”

“He’s so cute,” Yuuri smiled. The poodle gave up on trying to climb onto the bed and instead turned to the nearest person – Yuuri – for affection. “Nice to meet you Makkachin,” Yuuri cooed, “Who’s a good boy?” Makkachin placed his front paws on Yuuri’s lap to give him kisses as well, tail wagging furiously at the praise.

“He likes you a lot,” Victor chuckled, “He’s a pretty friendly dog, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him take to someone so quickly.”

“Aww, I wish I had treats for you,” Yuuri said, scratching Makkachin under his jaw and stroking along his furry back, “You’re such a good boy. Yes, you are.”

Victor suspects that Yuuri will replace his position as Makkachin’s favorite human quite soon. He’s not too upset about that, since Yuuri is already his favorite human. “Thank you again for taking care of him and bringing him,” Victor said to Mila and Georgi, “Means a lot.”

“Like I said, we couldn’t leave him there,” Mila said, “even after we walked him he looked so sad.”

Damn, right in the feels. He feels like such a shitheel for letting this case take up so much of his time and Makkachin really does deserve better. Now that it’s over, he can spend more time with him and make up for being gone so long for so often.

“When can I get out of here?” Victor asked, pointedly ignoring the fact that _he’s still hooked up to an IV._

“When the doctor gives you the all clear,” Georgi said, and Victor scrunches his nose. He’d been hoping to hear that he could leave right away. Really, he feels just fine- “You lost almost a quarter of your total blood volume. When Ga’mal stabbed you, it nicked an artery and punctured your stomach. If Yuuri hadn’t stitched you up, you would’ve bled out.” Victor blinks at Georgi.

“That’s twice now you’ve saved one of our asses,” Victor said, looking at the professor who was looking pointedly at Makka, his hands rhythmically smoothing the poodle’s curls.

“I couldn’t do anything when you went into hypovolemic shock, though,” Yuuri said quietly, shaking his head, “it was Georgi who kept you stable until we could get you to Geneva.”

“You’re lucky those claws weren’t poisonous,” Georgi continues, “or we would’ve lost you.” the silence that follows is heavy and Yuuri especially looks stricken.

“But you didn’t. Because of you. So, thank you,” Victor said, “Both of you. What happened to Ga’mal?”

“Dead,” Mila said, and handed him a manila folder – the case file. The most recent documents were photos of the Chevalier mansion. CSI had documented the workshop, the study where Victor had nearly bled to death (the blood pool got its own close-up), the Trap Matrix with the cracked antique urn, and several scattered lumps of foul decaying meat. He lingers on the photo of a large scorch mark blackening the expensive marble flooring, the antique wooden wall paneling, and some of the desk furniture – familiar signs of Victor’s handiwork, “That’s all that was left of it.”

“Good,” Victor said, closing the folder and handing it back, “That’s what I like to hear. A job well done team.” He dislikes using that particular brand of magic and keeps it as a trump card for rare situations. The results are too messy, and so inelegant. He prefers a quieter more minimalistic kill.

“Chevalier’s been remanded,” Mila said, “His sentence won’t be carried out until we collect his testimony, so he’s not in any rush for us to pay him a visit anytime soon.”

“I can’t say I’m particularly eager to see him again either,” Victor sighed, leaning back into the pillows, “but, the sooner this case is completely closed, the better.”

“Amen to that,” Mila murmured.

A nurse comes by to check on Victor and is pleasantly surprised to see him awake…and that a standard poodle has somehow been allowed into the hospital. Makkachin continues to happily pant away, crammed in Yuuri’s lap in the already uncomfortable hospital chair, oblivious to the fact that his presence is violating a few health codes. Victor makes puppy eyes (learned from the best) at the nurse who sighs.

“The poodle can stay for now, but he has to go before the doctor comes in, okay?” she says, and lets Makka sniff her hand before giving him a quick scratch behind his fluffy ears, “Aww. Hi there.”

“He’s very well behaved,” Victor said cheerfully before lifting his arm to give the nurse room to undo the ties holding the halves of the flimsy gown together and clinical fingers poke and prod at his skin. He’s a little tender, but nothing that warrants being kept in the hospital for another day. She carefully pulls the IV from his forearm and replaces it with a Scooby-Doo band-aid before adding several notes to his chart.

“All set. The doctor will be by soon,” the nurse says and leaves the room.

“Well, you heard the lady,” Georgi said, “Come on Makka. Time to go home.”

“We’ll drop him off at your apartment for you, yeah?” Mila said, setting down the bundle of clothes she had tucked under her arm, “Keep us updated.”

“Aye aye,” Victor saluted.

“Bye bye Makka,” Yuuri croons when Mila takes Makkachin’s leash, giving him one last scratch before the stubborn poodle is coaxed off Yuuri’s lap.

“I’ll see you soon, Makka,” Victor calls after the dog and when the poodle is gone, he aggressively sulks and sinks back against the pillows, quietly lamenting the fact that he’s not allowed to leave just yet. “I wanna go home,” he whines and kicks his feet (okay, so not that quietly).

“You’re not very good at being patient, are you?” Yuuri chuckled.

“ _Yuu_ ri,” Victor whines, “don’t make fun of me. I’m injured.”

“If you’re injured then you have to stay here,” Yuuri said. Victor wrinkles his nose when the professor makes a very good point.

The doctor knocks before she comes inside, her hair held out of her face with a headband, and she’s followed by a young man in bright pink scrubs holding a tablet, “Well, you certainly look more alive than when you first arrived, Agent Nikiforov,” she says.

“Why, thank you,” Victor preened, sweeping his bangs out of his face (he really _really_ wants to wash his hair. Ugh). 

“I’m Dr. Darcy,” she introduces herself, “This is Mr. Boon, he is my attending Scribe who will be documenting our little chat.” The kid gives a little wave and adjusts his tablet, stylus at the ready, and Victor smiles. “So, how are you feeling? Any pain or discomfort?”

“Nope,” Victor chirped, “I’m fit as a fiddle.” He wiggled his toes a little underneath the sheets and winked at Yuuri who shook his head, “You and your staff did a marvelous job.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Dr. Darcy nodded, “but I’m not clearing you to go back to work just yet, Agent. Your stomach was punctured, which means staying on antibiotics as a preventative countermeasure against blood poisoning.”

“Does that mean I have to stay here?” Victor asked. Gods, he hoped not. He wanted out of this bed with its horrible scratchy blanket and horrible buttons, wires, and doohickeys. Dr. Darcy picked up his wrist, and Victor got the strangest feeling he was being examined. Her hand was warm and dry, except for the tips of her fingers that pressed into his pulse point which were ice cold.

“You’re hydrated enough, and your RBC count is fine," she said, "I'll go ahead and release you, but I want you to come back tomorrow for a follow-up exam to see how you respond to the medication."

“I can live with that,” Victor said. She gave him a Look.

“No strenuous activity until at least the end of the week,” she added, “and that includes magic. Do I make myself clear, Agent?”

“Unmistakably,” Victor answered, “Crystal clear.”

She wrote him a prescription, “Twice a day. Any excessive fatigue, muscle weakness, or fever, you come back right away. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Victor saluted, and he could've sworn she looked almost amused. 

“Take care of yourself, Agent. I’ll notify the desk to have your discharge papers drawn up and to set an appointment for you,” Dr. Darcy said. She exchanged a nod with Yuuri and left with her scribe trailing behind her.

“Scary British lady,” Victor commented, happily shoving back the blankets and extricating himself from the hospital bed, “She reminds me of Lilia.” Except Lilia was arguably more terrifying and wouldn’t be caught dead in pastels.   

“Does Lilia call you ‘agent’ too?” Yuuri asked, a note of amusement coloring his tone.

“No, she calls me Victor,” Victor said, “or Vitenka if I’m being particularly troublesome.” He pulled on his jeans under the hospital gown before trading that for a t-shirt and frowns when he finds his phone tucked into the back pocket. He tries turning it on and of course it's dead. Oh well. 

“Vitenka,” Yuuri repeated, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He had half a mind to tell Yuuri he’d probably get more aroused than anything else hearing him use the diminutive. But, that was a conversation better saved for when they weren’t standing in the same room as Victor’s almost-death bed.

Yuuri yawned and stretched, and Victor frowned.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Victor asked. Yuuri gives him a startled look and straightens his glasses.

“Uh…” he hedges. Victor sighs.

“Yuuri,” he says, “you’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet. Have you at least eaten something?”

“Well…” Yuuri fidgets. Those warm fuzzies from earlier were corrupted by agitation – mostly directed at himself. If he could, he’d make sure he never suffered another serious injury again just to keep Yuuri from doing something like this again. 

“We are going to get something to eat,” Victor said sternly, “and then, I’m going to deliver you home where you will get some sleep. Yes?”

“I just,” Yuuri begins and bites his lip, “I just couldn’t. Sleep.” Victor pauses in the middle of putting on his jacket. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but…I was terrified.”

Gods, he’s softening like that ice cream he left on his counter for too long last week.

“Come here,” Victor says and spreads his arms. They meet in the middle (sort of) with Yuuri letting his forehead fall heavily against Victor’s shoulder. And holding Yuuri…it feels nice. Though Victor’s not all that surprised. They fit together well; the professor is the perfect height to slot his head under Victor's chin. He’s already used to this. He doesn't want to let go. “Even if I did die,” he says and feels Yuuri tense a little bit, “it wouldn’t have been your fault. But, I’m still here see?” he gives Yuuri a little squeeze, “I'm afraid you're stuck with me.” Yuuri relaxes, laughs a little, and squeezes him back.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Victor’s shoulder, “I’m sorry if I’m being weird-“

“No, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts, pulling away enough to look him sternly in the eye, “ _Never_ apologize for caring. It’s part of what makes you human. Besides, if you weren’t at least a little shaken, we’d be concerned.”

Yuuri nods mutely and gives Victor a little smile.

“Good,” Victor chirps and releases the professor, “Now, I could do with some food. How does curry sound?”

“Thai or Indian?” Yuuri asked.

“Ooh, tough question,” Victor said and tapped his mouth, “We’ll flip a coin.”

They end up deciding on the latter since it’s closer and finishing up at the hospital took far longer than it should have. The restaurant is small with friendly staff and decorated in warm homey colors. Good smells are coming from the kitchen in the back and Victor can feel how empty his stomach is. Cookies are great and all, but he wants _food_.

“I’m glad I got to meet Makkachin today, even if wasn’t under the best circumstances,” Yuuri says.

“Anytime is a wonderful time to meet a dog,” Victor contests, holding up a finger and Yuuri admits that Victor is right.

“How long have you had him?” Yuuri asked.

“About six years now,” Victor said, “I found him on my way home from patrol. He’d been abandoned, a tiny little thing just left in a box on the sidewalk.”

“Aw,” Yuuri said, frowning, “I’m glad you found him.” 

"As am I," Victor said, "He taught me a lot about compassion and humanity. It's amazing what we can learn from dogs." Compassion had been one of the first lessons Lilia had tried to teach him, and well...he hadn't been a very good student and she wasn't much of a teacher. She believed in fairness, competence, and dependability. Sometimes compassion got in the way of that. 

"When I was little, I really wanted a dog," Yuuri said, "But, we couldn't really afford it. Taking care of pets properly is expensive."

"And now?" Victor asked. 

"I can barely take care of myself," Yuuri half-joked, "I can't take care of a dog." 

Victor has to concede that Yuuri has a point, though he's sure Yuuri does just fine when he doesn't have so much on his plate. 

Their dinner arrives and it's warm and filling. Victor starts feeling a little sleepy towards the end of the meal while Yuuri almost completely falls asleep at the table. Victor quietly pays and helps Yuuri out of the restaurant. "I'm getting the strangest sense of deja vu," he jokes blithely while discreetly opening a Portal. 

"You're not supposed to be doing magic," Yuuri reminded him, "doctor's orders."

"It's fine," Victor sang, "I make Portals all the time." Yuuri looks like he wants to scold him some more but he yawns widely instead. The trip up the stairs to his apartment is slow, with Yuuri tiredly dragging his feet but they eventually reach the door to apartment 4H and he watches the professor quietly insert the key into the lock. He helps Yuuri remove his shoes and insists he takes a shower before bed. 

"If you don't come out in five minutes, I'm going to assume you're drowning and come in to rescue you," Victor informed him. 

"Five minutes," Yuuri repeated, "Got it." 

But, fortunately, Yuuri doesn't fall on his face and drown and he emerges from the bathroom in slightly damp pajamas with his equally damp hair mussed from the towel. 

"Where's your hair dryer?" Victor asked. Yuuri blinks owlishly at him (not wearing his glasses). 

"Victor, you were just in the hospital. I cant ask you to do more for me-" Yuuri begins to protest. 

"You're not asking, I'm offering. Besides, you'll thank me later," Victor says. 

Helping Yuuri dry his hair feels almost domestic and Yuuri starts to nod off when Victor carefully rakes his fingers through to make sure there are no wet spots. Victor sets the dryer aside and nudges him carefully. 

"Thank you, Victor," Yuuri mumbles when he straightens from his tired slump. 

"Of course," Victor replies, "Since you're tired, I'll save your scolding for later." 

"Scolding?" Yuuri asked, squinting. 

"Yes. Later," Victor said, "Now, off to bed with you. Shoo!" 

Yuuri stares at him for another beat before shuffling into his bedroom and collapsing on top of the messy covers with a muffled _fwump_ before wriggling around like a tired slug in an attempt to get under the blankets properly. Victor fails to repress his amused snort and steps in to help, pulling up the blankets to cover him, "Goodnight Yuuri." Yuuri doesn't respond, already fast asleep. 

He leaves through the front door, and finds Yuuri's neighbor waiting on the other side about to knock. He's wearing pajamas decorated with little hamsters and gigantic hamster slippers. 

"Oh," the neighbor says, "It's the hot Exorcist." Victor blinks at that, not quite sure if he should be flattered or insulted. "Leaving so soon?"

"Ah, I was just escorting Yuuri home," Victor said, gesturing behind him, "He's had quite a long day. I'm sure he'll be more inclined towards a visit in the morning." 

The neighbor gives him a considering look, "Well, thank you for taking care of him. He can be shit at doing it himself sometimes. I'm Phichit by the way." 

"Victor," Victor says and Phichit gives him a sly smile. 

"I know," he replied, "I'm going to bed now. Have a good night, Victor." 

Phichit disappears back into 4F and Victor stands there for a moment somehow feeling like he'd just been tested and he's not sure if he passed or if he failed. He locks the door to Yuuri's apartment and takes a Portal home and sways uneasily on his feet in the apartment entryway after stepping through. When he sheds his jacket he sees tiny bruises, with a circumference no larger than the eraser on a number two pencil, on the inside of his elbow. _Great_. 

Makkachin is incredibly happy to see him, though after his initial greetings he sniffs Victor and looks around with a questioning grumble. "He's not here, boy. I took him home. He'll visit soon though, I promise," Victor says. He sees that Mila and Georgi fed him already and refilled his water bowl and he makes a note to buy those two lunch. He cuddles and plays with the poodle properly for a little while before calling it a night.

He turns on the shower and steps back to get undressed while it warms up and he glimpses his (previously) injured side in the mirror. Instead of scar tissue, there's faintly pink new skin. He skates his fingers over his side and wishes it had scarred a little as a reminder of his mistake and what absolutely shouldn't happen again. Steam begins to cloud the mirror, partially obscuring his view, and he pulls back the curtain and climbs in. It's a relief to finally wash his hair and get rid of the hospital smell. 

Makkachin is gnawing on his bone on his big plush bed just under the window when Victor finally leaves the bathroom. The poodle looks up briefly before going back to his bone while Victor turns off the light and climbs into bed. He plugs in his phone and gives it a moment or two before he turns it on. There are several voicemails, and a missed call from Yakov timestamped to just after the raid went to shit. There's also a list of missed texts from the group chat Mila created. 

 

Milochka, ☆Yuuri☆, Gosha  
  
Milochka  
Any word yet?  
  
Yuuri  
Sorry. Not yet. I think he's still in surgery.  
  
Milochka  
Christ. Alright. Keep us posted. We still have to get things sorted over here.   
  
Yuuri  
No problem. I'll let you know when I get word.  
  
Milochka  
Thank you.  
  
Gosha  
Our fearless leader will pull through! (´∀`)

He huffs a little laugh at the rare burst of positivity from Georgi, though his mirth quickly fades when he thinks about Yuuri sitting by himself in the ED waiting to hear news while Mila and Georgi worked fast to get everything taken care of in his absence. He's proud of them. He hadn't expected anything less from his team.

 

Milochka, ☆Yuuri☆, Gosha  
  
Yuuri  
He's out of surgery. He'll be allowed more visitors later. Room C-114.  
  
Milochka  
How does he look?  
Yuuri  
Pale, but otherwise okay.  
  
Gosha  
(´∀`)  
  
Milochka  
Lol Victor's always pale. Good to hear though.

Victor shook his head at Mila's crack at his complexion, as if she wasn't just as pale as he was on a good day. He continues reading, frowning when he sees Yuuri denying Mila's offers to bring him take out. At first, Yuuri's dedication to keeping vigil was touching, but less so after realizing that Yuuri had neglected himself in the process. And Victor wonders if maybe Yuuri's reasons for staying are somehow related to why he left the Agency.

He heaves a sigh at the thought of having that conversation. The last thing he wants to do is make things awkward by prying into Yuuri's past after he insisted on not reading his file. Makkachin jumps up onto the bed and squishes up close to Victor's side.  
"I'm alright, Makka," Victor soothed, patting his curly side, "Or at least I will be."

 

 

Milochka, ☆Yuuri☆, Gosha  
  
Home at last! (/◕ヮ◕)/.   
  
Milochka  
Oh gods. Not the emoticons. Georgi you've infected him!  
  
Gosha  
(·ω·) (^_-)  
  
Well said Gosha. I'm off to bed! Nighty night! (-_-)zzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I gave myself a headache trying to keep all the godsdamn timezones straight. 'Cause I just love doing these things to myself. 
> 
> 'M is for Magic' is a collection of short stories by Neil Gaiman. The particular short story Yuuri is reading here is called 'Sunbird'. 
> 
> It amuses me to think of Victor constantly getting scolded by doctors while he's in recovery because he's Victor 'I do what I fucking please' Nikiforov. Oh, the sass. Oh, the extra.   
> This chapter was almost Yuuri's, but I ended up rewriting it. Depending on what the survey says, I'll post the outtake on tumblr. In the meantime, know that I 'preciate y'all.


	12. Waiter, There's a Serial Killer in My Soup

_April 2019; District 11 Remand Center – Marseilles_

The guard is stony faced as he slides his gloved hands over Victor’s arms, along his sides, and down each leg. When he straightens, he eyeballs Victor’s tags and waves him forward to the next stop in the checkpoint, which is a solid wooden gate covered in intricate spellwork. The runes don’t react when he slowly walks through and he’s allowed to put on his jacket and his shoes and collect his visitor’s badge. He steps out of the checkpoint and looks back at his teammates. The female guard that checked Mila for contraband waves her through.

“I hate having to take off my shoes like I’m in some sort of godsdamned airport,” Mila muttered acerbically, wiggling her feet back into her black combat boots and furiously tightening the laces. Victor hands her a visitor’s badge when she straightens and watches Yuuri walk through the last checkpoint. The gate flashes green and Yuuri’s stopped by the guard.

“What do you think it is?” Mila asked, “A glitch?”

“No,” Victor said, “Probably a charm on his glasses he forgot to tell them about.”

It’s not his glasses.

Yuuri rolls up the sleeve on his left arm all the way up to his elbow. Victor watches curiously as Yuuri presses his thumb into the skin of his forearm. The guard steps close to inspect it, obscuring Victor’s view. And then Yuuri’s lifting the hem of his shirt to expose his tight stomach and the intricate tattoo spidering halfway down his side and along his ribcage. Victor’s mouth goes a little dry and he turns his attention to Georgi – who’s being held up until Yuuri’s cleared to go through – in a (fruitless) attempt to keep his brain out of the gutter.

“Well well,” Mila said slyly, crossing her arms, “sweet Professor Katsuki has a bit of a rebellious side. Who knew?”

Yuuri’s waved through and the professor looks a little embarrassed at his impromptu display.

“I definitely didn’t see _those_ distinguishing marks in your file, Yuuri,” Mila said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

“They’re not really distinguishing since I keep them covered up,” Yuuri said, looking a little sheepish and bending down to put on his shoes, “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Got nothing to be sorry for,” Mila nudged Victor sharply.

“No harm done,” Victor agrees, _Except to my sanity and focus_. His overactive imagination is already trying to splice past and present images together to render what Yuuri would probably look like completely naked. Gods almighty, he might need some serious therapy after this.

It’s Georgi’s turn to walk through and there’s no reaction from the gate.

“What was all the hold up about?” he asked them, taking his shoes and visitor’s badge.

“Yuuri has a magical tramp stamp and he didn’t tell them about it,” Mila said, making the professor splutter out embarrassed half-formed protests and Georgi blinked.

“Well, let’s go pay our friend a long overdue visit, shall we?” Victor said cheerfully.

The private visitation rooms are in a separate wing from the open visitation center, closer to where the inmates are housed and usually reserved for law enforcement to privately interview convicts. Like most of the remand centers in Europe, there’s three levels of housing: those awaiting sentencing, those that have already been sentenced, and then there’s solitary confinement. How those levels are organized is usually dependent upon the district they’re in, level of containment, and how old each center is. District Eleven is one of the few that’s recently undergone serious renovation but still doesn’t house many inmates convicted of serious crimes. Eric Chevalier is being housed with the inmates who have already been sentenced according to the record of remand Victor has pulled up on his tablet.

Yuuri and Georgi elect to watch the interview from the outside, on the other side of the two-way mirror, since Victor and Mila had made initial contact during the raid. When Chevalier is brought in, it’s from the prisoner’s entry door opposite the two-way mirror. He’s wearing a set of tight Suppression bracelets, plain prison grays, and there are heavy shadows underneath his mismatched eyes.

“So, how’s life?” Victor asks cheerfully in English after Chevalier takes a seat, and gets a withering look as his answer, “Yeah, I can’t relate.” Victor laid his tablet on the table, “So, Eric – can I call you Eric? – waiving your right to counsel and your right to a trial, that’s pretty serious stuff.” Chevalier doesn’t say a word, continuing to spare into the dead space over Victor’s shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to give up so quickly once you were arrested, after all you managed to avoid being arrested for four and a half months.” Chevalier’s face goes completely blank and he appears to shrink in on himself.

Victor leans back in his chair, running his tongue over his teeth and trying to keep his composure at the blatant display of self-pity, “The point I’m trying to make here is: why? Six people are dead, and you can’t even be bothered to go through the tedium of a full trial and give the families who’s lives you destroyed proper closure?” Chevalier flinches at that.

“Whether you talk or not,” Mila said, “your sentence will be finalized. Better to just get it all out here now, right? Tell us what you intended to do with the magic you stole.”

It took a moment, but Chevalier raised his tired red-rimmed eyes, “I just wanted to see my family again. Is that such a crime?”

“Well, it is when you summon one or two demons, attempt to break universal law, and butcher six innocent people in the process,” Victor nodded then paused and looked at Mila, “Did I get everything? That was already a mouthful.”

“You did good,” Mila said, giving him the ‘okay’ sign.

“I thought Ga’mal – or whatever its name is – would grant my wish,” Chevalier said quietly, his face fixed in a sullen frown much like a five-year-old that was told _no they absolutely could not have ice cream before dinner._ He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, “When I got the phone call…I didn’t believe it at first. My wife gone. My boys scraped off a car door in the middle of some dirty highway, while the driver of that truck got away with hardly a scratch.”

“You were angry,” Mila said, “Perfectly understandable.”

“I was _livid_ ,” Chevalier corrected her with a frown, “They deserved _better_. If help had arrived sooner, I might’ve still had my wife at least.”

“Why wait so long then?” Victor asked, “It’s been, what, four years?”

Chevalier looks annoyed at the question, “Finding a way to get what I wanted took time. Mance witches were…unhelpful. Even those that dabbled in the Darker arts couldn’t give me many answers.” Victor can practically hear Georgi’s annoyed look from the other side of the mirror. “Getting demonic help seemed like the best possible option.”

“So, what was all the Ward magic for?” Mila asked, “Demons are usually sustained by their summoner’s power.”

“Ga’mal was weakened when I called it through the Gate,” Chevalier sighed, his eyes unfocused, “It said granting my wish would take more power than I had, and I believed it. Even before I married Carmen, I hadn’t dedicated much time to my magic since I never really had the knack for it. After that, there was no going back. I thought, ‘It’ll all be worth it when I see their smiles again’.”

“Mm,” Victor hummed, “and look how well that worked out.” he put his hands on the table, preparing to push away from the table and stand up.

“I just have one more question,” Mila said, making Victor pause, “Kinda unrelated: what the _fuck_ is up with your wife’s doll collection?” for once, the convict shows emotion beyond general annoyance or stale indifference, blinking in surprise at the question.

“Dolls…?” he repeats faintly, “Those were my mother’s. My wife had an interest in collecting and it seemed a waste to let them rot in storage. So, I gave them to her as a gift. Why?”

“They were sentient,” Victor answered, the legs of his chair protesting when he pushed away from the table, “But, since they were your mother’s, you probably don’t know anything about that.” Chevalier shakes his head.

“Yeah, no,” he said, “I wasn’t allowed to play with them. They were rare antiques, made in France before my family immigrated to the States.”

“I’d say it was lovely speaking with you,” Victor said, “but I made a New Year’s Resolution to be more honest with others and myself.”

The guards fetch Chevalier and escort him out of visitation, and Mila and Victor are surprised when they step outside the interview room and the facility’s warden is there with Georgi and Yuuri. He looks like a fairly straight-laced man who likes things in order and keeps his house ship-shape, with his uniform crisply pressed and his hair neatly parted and combed.  

“Mr. Beaumont, yes?” Victor says with a smile, “I hope you enjoyed the show.” The warden turns to inspect him with the same disdain one gives to a nasty cockroach crushed on the bottom of their shoe.

“On the contrary Agent Nikiforov, I found your performance full of hypocrisy,” the warden replied flatly, “Hardly palatable.”

“From you, I’ll consider that a compliment,” Victor chuckled, “Let’s have tea sometime.”

He didn’t wait for the warden’s response, though he could feel those eyes full of repugnance boring into his back.

“Well, that guy was kind of an ass,” Mila commented when they got to the outgoing checkpoint, and the guard waves them through with a bored look on his face.  

“He showed up just after you guys started the interview,” Georgi said, “What’d you do, Victor? Kill his brother or something?”  

“I’m sure it’s just the usual,” Victor said blithely, “’Stain on the Agency’s good reputation’, ‘disgrace to the department’, blah blah blah.”

The Transportation Circle glows under their feet and their surroundings white out for a brief five seconds. When the light fades, the office comes into focus and – completely unrelated – Yakov emerges from his office, holding several files. For a moment, it looks like Yakov’s too distracted to notice them but then he pauses and turns slowly to look at them all, narrowing his eyes at Victor.

“You want to tell me what you’re doing here without a doctor’s note?” Yakov demanded. Victor fights the urge to cringe because now all three of his teammates have turned to give him exasperated looks.

“Victor,” Yuuri said slowly, “You never actually got cleared for duty, did you?”

“You _shit_ ,” Mila accused, “You said it was fine!”

“I said that Dr. Darcy said I was perfectly healthy,” Victor said, holding up a finger, “Which she did. There’s no reason for me _not_ to work.”

Yakov rubs at his eyes, “Go home. And stay there until your doctor says you can come back.”

“Yakov,” Victor whined, “I swear I’m fine. Look, I’m the picture of health!” he spread his arms.

“Your picture should be in the dictionary under ‘troublesome’,” Yakov snapped, “Now: _go home_. I am _not_ getting caught up in an argument about medical liability because you couldn’t keep yourself entertained for three days.”

Yakov stomps out of the office, letting the doors slam behind him and Victor sulks at his back.

“First he complains about us not working fast enough, now he’s telling me to wait it out,” he grumbles.

“Well now the Council might throw out Chevalier’s testimony if they think you weren’t of sound health during the interview,” Mila said, “Which would be fan- _fucking_ -tastic after all the work we just put in.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Milochka,” Victor said, “Those chucklefucks won’t be throwing anything out.”

“You sound awfully confident,” Georgi commented flatly.

“It’s because I am,” Victor said cheerfully.

“I have half a mind to punch you in the face,” Mila said, then paused, “I wonder if this is what Yura feels like eighty-percent of the time.”

“Probably,” Victor and Georgi said.

“Little Yuri is ninety-eight-percent rage,” Victor said.

“Then what’s the other two percent?” Yuuri asked.

“Snacks? Cat videos? Ambition?” Victor suggested, all the while migrating over to his desk. He’s about to shrug out of his jacket when Yakov strolls back in, empty-handed.

“Victor,” Yakov warns.

“Okay okay,” Victor held up his hands, “I’m going.”

Yakov’s agitated gaze follows him as he trudges back over to the Transportation Circle and steps inside the matrix. He sticks out his tongue at Yakov just before the light washes out his surroundings. Is it childish and petty? Maybe. Does Victor have any fucks to give? Nope.

Makkachin comes to greet him at the door when he arrives back at his apartment, his tail wagging furiously, “Hi Makka,” Victor coos, closing the door with his foot before bending down to smoosh Makkachin’s curls, “Did you have a good nap while I was gone? Huh?” Makkachin’s tail thumps against the floor when Victor scratches him behind the ears. “You wanna go for a walk?” Makkachin tilts his head at the magic word and his tail starts to wag in earnest, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” He changes his jacket and grabs the leash and harness.

His poodle calms his excited wiggling long enough to allow Victor to put the harness over his head, clip it in place, then attach the leash, “Okay,” Victor said, “Come on Makka.” he leads his dog over to the door and opens it – and there’s Yuuri on the other side, with his fist raised to knock.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, eyes widening adorably behind his glasses.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, “What brings you here? Whoa!” Makkachin leaps forward to half-tackle Yuuri with a happy bark, stretching up on his hind legs to give his new friend as many kisses as canine-ly possible. “I think Makkachin missed you,” Victor chuckled.

“Aww,” Yuuri knelt to wrap his arms around the poodle, “I missed you too, Makka. Yes, I did.” Makkachin’s tongue lolls in a happy pant while his tail wags furiously.

“I was just about to take him on his afternoon walk,” Victor said, “You’re welcome to join us. We’d love to have you along.” He sneakily conjures some tissues and hands them to Yuuri.

“I don’t want to impose,” Yuuri said, taking the tissues and cleaning off his glasses.

“Nonsense,” Victor waved him off, “Makka and I are glad for the company.”

It’s slightly overcast outside but it doesn’t smell like rain just yet. Wan beams of sunshine poke through cracks in the clouds and cast weird pockets of shadow on the city below.

“Um, I came by because Mila told me I should check on you. She told me you get destructive when you’re bored,” Yuuri said, “And Yakov seemed annoyed that I’m still hanging around.”

“Well, that’s just…” Victor begins and then pauses, trying to find a way to phrase the rest of his response so he’s not lying, “not entirely false.” Nailed it. “Don’t take it too personally. Yakov is at that age where he’s annoyed by everything.”

“How long has he been your handler?” Yuuri said, giving Makkachin scratches on his muzzle when the poodle brushes up against Yuuri’s side.

“Since forever,” Victor said, “Yakov’s been, well, handling me since before I enlisted. He and Lilia both, really.”

“Wow,” Yuuri murmured, “I heard Lilia is, um, kind of terrifying.”

“’Kind of’?” Victor laughed, “That’s an understatement. That woman has lived through both World Wars, she’s pretty much indestructible. You’ll see. You have to meet her to understand.”

“Hearing that, I’m not sure I want to,” Yuuri said.

Their route takes them along the Neva, which looks like slate under the overcast sky. Seagulls are still shrieking and dive-bombing unfortunate passersby with tasty treats in their hands and Makkachin lets out a friendly bark at one feathered menace that tries to get too close.

Yuuri makes a curious sound when his phone rings, fishing it out of his pocket and blinking at the caller ID before he swipes to answer.

“Hi Mila,” he says, and his eyes flick to Victor while he listens, “Yeah, I’m with him now. He’s fine.” Victor raises an eyebrow. “No Mardi Gras beads or piñatas in sight, I promise.” Now he’s raising both eyebrows. “Um, no. That’s not necessary. I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“Mardi Gras?” Victor said when Yuuri hangs up the phone, “That was three years ago. I’m surprised she’s still bringing that up. I barely remember what happened.” He blames the faerie booze for that; he remembers the bit with the hot tub and the giggling naiads, but after that his memory is holeyer than swiss cheese.

“She said she had pictures,” Yuuri said, “She offered to show me, but, um, I said ‘no’.”

“Pictures?” Victor asked, his interest piqued, “She never told me she took pictures.” Yuuri gives him an odd look.

“You…don’t sound upset,” he comments.

“I’m curious,” Victor said, “She never told me what happened. All I remember is waking up in a bathtub in some random motel with Mardi Gras beads, my shoes and shirt missing, and hot sauce in my hair.” Yuuri stares at him for a beat before he started laughing. Victor just about started giggling with him, but he couldn’t help his smile.

“Wow,” Yuuri chuckled, “Must’ve been a wild night.”

“Oh definitely,” Victor nodded, “There were faeries and they brought booze. I don’t know what they put in it, but my tolerance is weak to it.” Yuuri snorts into his hand and Victor wishes he could squish him right then and there without risking the possibility that Makkachin will take off after another seagull. “Are you hungry?” Victor asked.

“I could eat,” Yuuri agreed.

“Excellent,” Victor smiled.

The street vendor that sells the best pirozhki in St. Petersburg is parked in his usual spot just a little ways down from the bakery Victor frequents sometimes. The cries of the seagulls can still be heard over the inane sounds of traffic. Makkachin’s nose twitches with curiosity at the smell of meat and fried dough. “I hope you’re not on a diet,” Victor jokes when he gets in line behind two students still in their uniforms.

“After this I might have to be,” Yuuri says, playing along.

Makkachin gives them puppy eyes the whole time, begging for a treat and it takes all of Victor’s willpower not to add an extra bun to their order for the poodle. And it only gets worse when they have their food in hand and mention finding a place to sit and eat while enjoying the wan sunshine.

“Don’t look Yuuri,” Victor said seriously, “Makkachin’s puppy eyes are potent.”

“But,” Yuuri tries, after glancing at Makkachin, “but-“

“We must remain strong,” Victor said, gravy dripping down his fingers, “It’s for his own good.”

They both end up slipping the poodle a bite when they think the other isn’t looking and by the time they make it back to the apartment, Makkachin is thoroughly worn out and the clouds thicken up with the threat of another spring storm.

“You mind if I use your bathroom?” Yuuri asked, toeing off his shoes in the entryway – most likely as a force of habit.

“Oh no, go ahead,” Victor said, undoing the side clips on Makkachin’s harness, “It’s just there. First door on the right, you can’t miss it.”

Yuuri pads off to go wash up and Victor puts the leash and harness away. Makkachin is given his treat, and he takes a few laps of water before slinking off to take a well-deserved nap. Meanwhile, Victor is trying not to have a breakdown in the middle of his kitchen because _Yuuri is in his apartment._

_Does he want to stay?_

_Should I make tea? Or does he prefer coffee?_

_I should’ve gone grocery shopping._

He’s never been more spectacularly aware of how bald his fridge is and how grossly underprepared he is to have guests until this very moment.

He puts the kettle on, rummaging around in his cupboards for his collection of tea bags and he makes a low happy sound when he finds it buried behind all the spices he never uses. The box gets set down on the counter and he fetches the jar of jam he keeps in the fridge. When Yuuri comes out of the bathroom he has a (small) heart attack and he bites on his tongue for a moment.

“Would you like some tea?” Victor asked, “I’ve got, jasmine, ginseng, green and black, um, chamomile.”

“Sure. Green tea is fine,” Yuuri said.

Victor grabs two mugs and sets about making tea for the two of them. He gets a scandalized look when he barely lets his steep and then sweetens it with a generous spoonful of strawberry jam.

“What?” Victor said when Yuuri stares at him.

“Just…why?” Yuuri gestured to the spoon stirring Victor’s tea, “ _Why_ would do that to a perfectly good cup of tea?”

“There is nothing wrong with my tea,” Victor says primly and then sticks the spoon in his mouth to make sure he gets every last sticky drop of jam. Yuuri wrinkles his nose at him and lets his tea steep for another minute before he adds barely a teaspoon of sugar.

“Did you…want to watch something?” Victor asked, “I have Netflix.”

 _The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_ piques their interest when they see the word ‘witch’ in the description and a pentagram featured in the title card and they settle in with their tea and prepare for hilarious inaccuracies.

“Devil-worshipping witches, that’s new,” Victor deadpanned. He’s not surprised they got the whole ‘witches’ versus ‘Warlocks’ thing wrong either.

“I kind of like the idea of shape-shifting goblin familiars. They seem useful,” Yuuri commented, “Next episode?”

“Oh yes, please,” Victor said. He dozes off before the episode is finished, missing the entire last half.

When he wakes up he barely notices what’s happening on the screen, a tad preoccupied with the fact that Yuuri is using his shoulder as a pillow. His glasses are slightly askew, and his mouth fixed in a little moue of discomfort. Victor’s hand moves without permission, coming up to smooth away the little wrinkle that’s formed between Yuuri’s eyebrows. The professor stirs with a little sniff and he looks up groggily at Victor.

“Oh hey,” Yuuri murmurs in cutely accented English.  

“Hi,” Victor smiles. Gods, he’s so cute like this and he’s so close. It wouldn’t take much to-

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, straightening a little so his weight isn’t entirely leaned into Victor’s side and Victor immediately misses it.

“Can I kiss you?” Victor blurts, “I would very much like to.” Yuuri’s lips part with surprise and his cinnamon eyes go big behind his glasses. There’s two seconds between Victor’s word vomit and Yuuri’s response. A very long two seconds and _oh gods what if he overstepped-_

“Okay,” Yuuri says quietly, pink all the way up to his hairline.

It’s tentative at first. A gentle meeting of their lips that causes warm tingles to spread along his cheeks and zing along his scalp – Yuuri’s magic. It’s so warm and sweet and _nice_ and Victor’s never had kisses like this before that make his heart ache a little. Yuuri lets out a little sigh and they part with a soft smack and Victor misses the tingling contact immediately. He can still feel Yuuri’s breath on his lips and his soft warmth is well within arm’s reach.

There’s a beat or two of silence where they’re just taking it in and then Yuuri’s mouth is on his again. It’s still slow and sweet, but a little more wet and Victor brings up a hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek, letting out an involuntary hum. He feels the angle change a little as Yuuri shifts his weight further into him and his tongue darts forward to taste the tingling warmth coming from Yuuri, pulling a soft noise from him in response and Victor wants to hear _more_.

A sudden scream from the television startles them both and Victor takes a moment to get his breath back. Yuuri looks faintly embarrassed, adjusting his glasses and swiping his tongue over his top lip. Victor involuntarily copies him, picking up the last traces of where their magic made contact. “You’re a very good kisser,” Victor commented, “I should’ve asked ages ago.” Yuuri flushes an even deeper shade of pink, and there’s a flicker of magic behind his pupils.

“Ditto,” Yuuri agrees and Victor laughs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a long sip from a Big Gulp*  
> Now, I know what you're thinking: "Why didn't you post this on Valentine's Day?"  
> And the answer is: "Because reasons."
> 
> This chapter ended up being a little shorter despite my wrestling with it during the free time I had. Ugh. 
> 
> I, too, have a chocolate colored fur monster and everytime I write Makkachin I picture her and her ridiculous antics especially when I have food in my hands.
> 
> Laters!


	13. Pick Your Battles...Now Put Some Back, That's Too Many

_May 2019; St. Petersburg_

Georgi hit the mat with a muted _slap_ and he let out a short wheeze before laying there like a dead fish for a solid minute.

Mila sighed and started to inspect her nails, “Well? You gonna get up anytime soon?”

Yuri took that as an opportunity to charge her from behind and she casually stepped out of his direct path and clotheslined him while still continuing to inspect her manicure for flaws. Yuri’s breath escaped him in a loud obvious whoosh and he went down hard, landing on the mat with a significantly louder _slap_.

“You gotta work on your stealth, kitten,” Mila said, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at the teenager laid out flat at her feet.

“Fuck,” Yuri wheezed, his chest heaving with every syllable, “you.”

“Nah, you’re too young for me,” Mila scoffed, starting to pick imaginary dirt out of her nails.

Victor had been surprised when Yuri showed up at his door that morning and gritted out the closest thing to an apology that Victor was ever going to get all the while refusing to make direct eye contact; his pale arms were completely bruise free, and he looked like he’d actually gotten some decent sleep during his days away from the office (which was always a plus). Victor wasn’t entirely convinced that the ornery teenager had learned his lesson about the dangers of magic exhaustion despite the lecture he’d most likely gotten from his grandfather and the Academy's nurse, but one can always hope right? 

Victor sighs through his nose and steps up to extend a hand down to Yuri and it takes a minute before the teenager accepts his hand. When he does, the door to the gym opens and Yuuri walks in, carrying a little backpack and wearing _leggings_. Victor’s grip abruptly goes slack and Yuri, unprepared, falls back onto the mat with an indignant squawk.

“What the _hell?_ ” Yuri demands and Victor (not listening) just continues to stare, burning Yuuri and his leggings into his retinas, into the soft tissue of his brain, into his very _soul_.

Mila comes up and rests her elbow on his shoulder, joining him in blatantly checking Yuuri out, “Those thighs though,” she said.

“They could kill a man,” Victor agrees. _I want him to sit on my face until I die_ , his brain helpfully adds (which doesn’t help). Getting hard right now would be really fucking inconvenient and Victor forces himself to think about the time he went to a nudist beach with his Uncle Sal. And any potential for a boner shrivels up and hides in a corner for a while.

Yuuri catches them staring after he sets his stuff down and he balks a little, “Um…am I late?” he asked. Gawd, he’s so cute it should be illegal.

“On the contrary,” Georgi grunts, finally hauling himself to his feet, “You’re just in time.”

“What’s the imposter doing here?” Yuri asked loudly, pointing rudely across the gym and glaring at Victor like this is all his fault (which…he’s not wrong about. Victor _did_ invite him).

“Isn’t it obvious, Yura?” Victor says cheerfully, “He’s come to train with us.”

“Ready to show us what you’ve got?” Mila grinned, making a show of cracking her knuckles.

“Um, I think so?” Yuuri said, “I haven’t sparred in a while.”

“I get first dibs then,” Yuri declared and rolled his shoulders, “I bet I could take you.”

Mila, Victor, and Georgi all pause and exchange a look before averting their gazes to avoid bursting into laughter. Their little intern is just too precious. As ‘rusty’ as the professor claims to be he’s still a veteran that has obviously kept in shape since his retirement. Yuri will be lucky if he isn’t knocked on his ass in the first thirty seconds.

Yuuri looks a little bewildered at the challenge but he agrees and takes off his glasses, quietly setting them aside before stepping onto the mat, “Terms?”

“No magic,” Yuri said immediately, “and no weapons. Hand-to-hand only.”

“Oh, I gotta record this,” Mila muttered, and her phone practically materializes in her hand and she holds it up with an eager smile.

“Send it to me later,” Victor whispers.

“Oi,” Yuri rounds on them with a glare, “will you assholes shut up and – are you _filming?_ ”

“For learning purposes,” Mila says innocently, and Yuri gives her a withering look that tells her that he thinks she’s full of shit.

“On three,” Victor said loudly, and Yuri glares at the two of them for another beat before directing his glass green gaze back on his opponent. Yuuri’s stance is loose and he meets the teenager’s eyes easily. “One,” Victor counts, “Two. Three.”

Honestly, he expected Yuri to just charge the older Warlock the moment the countdown finished. Instead, their precious intern is staring Yuuri down, taking in his stature and the distribution of his weight and Victor silently admits that he’s surprised.

“Hm,” Victor hums and taps his mouth thoughtfully. Of course, he’s probably going to charge any second now when it becomes obvious that Yuuri isn’t going to make the first move anytime soon. The professor’s stance is deceptively casual – his arms hang at his sides, body angled in a quarter-turn away from his opponent though his cinnamon eyes haven’t stopped taking Yuri in.

As expected, the teenager strikes first. Yuri’s movements are tight and controlled, aiming for spots that are soft and would cause some damage and each one is either dodged or deflected. He keeps trying to get inside Yuuri’s guard, chasing him around the mat.

“He’s lasted longer than I expected,” Mila murmured, the recording on her phone barely a minute in.

“Any second now though,” Victor said, tilting his head towards her without taking his eyes off the match, “You see it?”

“Mm,” Mila agreed.

Yuri hasn’t let his guard down despite Yuuri’s open stance, but he does make the same mistake that Victor’s been trying to correct since he started training him: eventually, Yuri gets impatient. And when he gets impatient he gets frustrated, and when he gets frustrated he gets a little sloppy and leaves himself wide open when he attempts to kick at Yuuri’s legs. Yuuri takes advantage of the fact that the teenager is underbalanced and sends him flat to the mat with a simple palm strike to his chest.

“Oof!” Yuri grunts.

“Not bad,” Yuuri tells him. Yuri sits up and gives him a dirty look.

“You were holding back,” Yuri accused.

“A little,” Yuuri admitted sheepishly, “I haven’t actually fought in a while, so I didn’t want to overexert myself. You made me sweat a little bit, though. Who taught you to fight?”

“You can blame that geezer over there,” Yuri nodded at Victor who smiled and wiggled his fingers cheekily. 

“He’s not a bad teacher,” Yuuri said and extended a hand to help the teenager. Yuri accepted it reluctantly after giving it a wary look (most likely because Victor dropped him earlier).

“Alright,” Mila said, her phone put away, “Who wants to spar next? Winner gets to fight Yuuri.” The professor blinks at her.

“I’m out,” Georgi said immediately, putting his hands up, “I’ve been knocked around enough for one day.”

“Come on, Gosha,” Mila pouted at him, “You’re being such a party pooper. What happened to competitive spirit?”

“It died after you kicked me in the ribs,” Georgi deadpanned. 

“Guess that leaves me then,” Victor said cheerfully, and stepped on the mat, “How about we make this more interesting?” the aether gathered in his palm, coalescing and building until he held a pitch-black quarterstaff. Mila followed suit with a fangy smirk and gives her weapon a little twirl after it finishes manifesting.

“Well? C’mon snake, let’s rattle,” she said, and Victor snickered.

Mila had the advantage of her superior vampire speed, but Victor was familiar with her fighting style and strategy. Victor stuck to dodging or blocking the blows that he could and minimizing damage from those he couldn’t.

“Your speed has improved,” Mila commented when they become deadlocked, quirking one expertly shaped eyebrow. 

“I learned from the best,” Victor replied, batting his eyelashes and Mila scoffed.

“Flatterer,” she said.

“Who said anything about you? I was talking about Georgi,” Victor snorted, nodding to their compatriot who heaved a ‘Why are you bringing me into this?’ sigh. Mila gasped dramatically, pretending to be offended.

“Oh, that’s _it_ ,” she said. Victor couldn’t help giggling while fending off jabs to his ribs and ankles, at one point winking at Yuuri who shook his head fondly.

“Are you guys done?” Yuri demanded, “I actually have to train you know.”

Victor and Mila paused mid-strike to look at him. “Didn’t know you were so eager to get your ass kicked again,” Mila said, then pretended to think it over for a split second, “Oh wait, yeah I did.” Yuri gave her a dirty look.

“A wise man once said there are lessons in every defeat,” Victor said sagely, straightening from his stance to hold up a finger.

“What wise man was that?” Mila asked.

“A very wise one,” Victor nodded and got an eyeroll in response.

“Alright, since the kitten is so eager to get knocked on his ass again, I guess we’ll call it a draw,” Mila said, and her staff dissolves into formless smoke and disappears.

“Tiebreaker later?” Victor suggested and lets his staff dissipate.

“Absolutely,” Mila agreed, “Well kitten? Best foot forward, let’s go,” she undid her ponytail, re-gathering up the hair that had escaped at the base of her neck and tying it off, “You don’t get the kid gloves today.” 

“I’m gonna get you back for earlier,” Yuri promised, and Mila snickered.

“I mean, you can _try_ ,” she said.

Victor stepped off the mat, “Good luck, Yura. You might need it.”

“Fuck off,” Yuri spat.

“Ooh, feisty,” Mila teased.

“Why do you tease him so much?” Yuuri asked when Victor came to stand next to him.

“It gets him motivated,” Georgi answered, “He can never say ‘no’ to a challenge.”

“And it’s fun,” Victor added, “He’s so easy to rile up. It’s adorable.”

Mila easily sweeps Yuri’s legs out from under him before he can settle into a defensive stance and he lands with a little grunt. He gets back up and attempts to lock Mila in a hold but ends up back on the mat. Victor lets out a little exasperated sigh, _Well, at least he’s persistent_. The teenager’s improvement is slow; every time he manages to fix one mistake he makes three more and Mila kicks him right back down or – in this case – lifts him above her head.

“You fucking _hag_ ,” Yuri spat, flailing a bit in her grip, “You’re playing dirty and you know it! Put me down!”

“You’re so _light_ ,” Mila tells him, and bench presses him a few times, “We gotta put some more meat on those bones, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking freak!” Yuri screeches, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto.

“How’s the weather up there?” Victor asked, and Yuri cranes his neck back to glare at Victor, his hair beginning to stand on end and Mila drops him before she can get electrocuted. Yuri rolls up onto his knees with a little huff, his head bowed while the air seems to go strangely sharp. Arcs of electricity zap up and down the teenager’s arms and Yuri continues to kneel there, taking a moment or two to get himself under control before he stands up. The smell of ozone lingers in the air even after he manages to reel in his anger and his magic with it.

“Oh good, you’re done,” Mila said cheerfully, watching Yuri get back on his feet, and then promptly put him in a headlock.

“Get. Off!” Yuri yelled, trying to break out of her hold and when that didn’t work, tried squirming his way out.

“Very impressive,” Georgi commented, “I would’ve called ‘uncle’ by now.”

“He’s not the type to easily admit defeat,” Victor said cheerfully.

“I’ll say,” Yuuri agreed, “I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to zap her again.”

They watched Yuri kick and struggle and squirm for about five more minutes.

“Alright alright, _fine!_ Uncle! _Uncle_ , dammit!” Yuri yelled, slapping her arm and Mila released him, letting the teenager fall to the mat.

“Well that was entertaining,” Mila said, and stretched her arms above her head, “Better luck next time, kitten.”

“I hate you,” Yuri told her.

“Yeah yeah, love you too,” Mila waved him off then slapped her hands together, “Okay, who’s next? Georgi?”

“Haven’t you kicked me around enough for one day?” Georgi asked.

“I barely touched you,” Mila protested, “What are you gonna do against a vampire meaner than me, hm?”

“Call you,” Georgi said, “and tell you that a miracle has happened.” Mila gives him a withering look.

“Well, after all that I’m in the mood for a smoothie,” Victor declared.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Yuri told him.

There’s a new juice bar that’s opened a few blocks from the gym that Victor’s been wanting to try. It’s obviously run by hipsters trying to follow some kind of American trend, but it’s got good reviews. It’s crowded with students and young teenagers sipping at their fruity blends and using the free Wifi while chatting about inane things like ‘Instagram’ and the latest ‘Youtube’ fad.

“Plasma manipulation? That’s rare,” Yuuri comments while they wait for their order, “No wonder Yakov’s letting him apprentice.”

“His late grandmother had the affinity I think,” Victor said, leaning a little bit closer so he can be heard over the sound of multiple blenders going at once, “Passed it on down the line of succession. It’s difficult for him to control, since he tries to show the lightning whose boss and the lightning doesn’t like that.” Yuuri giggled at that. “Finding a teacher has been difficult for him. None of the instructors at Gorynych really know how to help him, so he’s still prone to outbursts like the one you just saw.”

“Makes sense,” Yuuri nodded, “I didn’t really start to learn about my magic until I moved to America for University. Jade- _sensei_ taught me everything I know about my affinity.”  

“And who taught you to fight?” Victor asked.

“Celestino,” Yuuri answered, “He used to be a boxer back in the day, learned fighting styles from all over the world. What about you?”

“My uncle. He wasn’t a boxer, but he was very well studied,” Victor said then steps up to the counter to grab the drink carrier loaded down with a variety of smoothies, “Everything else, I sort of picked up throughout the years.” It feels strange to mention his family in any capacity out loud after all this time. Sure, he thinks about them from time to time…mostly his eccentric relatives who’ve left scars of the non-violent sort on his memory (like that one time Cousin Pyotr gave him The Talk using his creepy puppets to illustrate some of his more… _graphic_ lesson objectives). 

“How did you end up teaching Little Yuri?” Yuuri asked.

“Well, he kept asking,” Victor said, “And I kept brushing him off. Back then, his parents were still alive. I figured they would teach him, or he’d enroll in the Academy’s Exorcist Program and he’d train there. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be that great of a teacher.”

“What made you decide to try?” Yuuri asked.

“I didn’t, really,” Victor said, “Somehow he’d convinced Yakov to let him apprentice and next thing I know, he started challenging me to matches. He still gets his ass handed to him, but I guess he picked up a few tricks here and there.”   

When they get back to the gym, Mila’s got Georgi in a full nelson while Little Yuri watches, “-try and escape,” Mila was telling Georgi.

“Why am I the guinea pig?” Georgi asked (probably for the umpteenth time), his neck craned forward, “I didn’t ask for this.”

“How else were we supposed to demonstrate how to get out of a full nelson?” Mila asked. Georgi huffed and dragged his weight down and Mila let herself go down with it until Georgi was flat on the mat with Mila trying to maintain the hold at the most awkward angle. Yuri had given up on paying attention and was playing Tetris on his phone.

“Ah, that’s better,” Georgi sighed, “Time for a nap.”

Mila let out an annoyed sound and traded keeping the analyst in the hold for holding him upside down by his ankles like she was some sort of American school bully from an old TV show shaking down the nerd for his lunch money.

“Such a great lesson,” Yuri deadpanned, barely glancing up from his phone, “I feel so educated.”

“Can you please put me down now?” Georgi said, his face slowly going red then redder, “I need my brains for work, you know.”

“Five more seconds,” Mila told him, “This is a punishment. We’re supposed to be _role models_ , Gosha.”

“I’m too smart to be a model,” Georgi protested, his face already starting to go a little purple from the all the blood rushing to his brain. Mila let him go, tossing her bangs out of her face, and Georgi landed with a little ‘oof’.

“We need to talk about your habit of stereotyping, Gosha,” Mila said, stepping off the mat, “But, later. Right now, it’s smoothie time.”

Yuri grabbed his without so much as a ‘thank you’ and started slurping his down, draining half the cup before he had to stop and clutch his head, “Brain freeze.”

“Ah, refreshing,” Mila said then smacked her lips, “Great idea Victor.”

“Of course, it was. All my ideas are great,” Victor said primly, taking a dainty sip of his raspberry-passion fruit concoction and getting a snort from two Exorcists (and one intern).

“What about that time in Loch Ness when you pissed off that mermaid colony, huh?” Mila asked.

“An honest mistake on my part,” Victor said, “I wasn’t aware that the word ‘yellow’ was a swear word in their culture.”

“And that time where we snuck into that party?” Yuri asked. Victor paused.

“I don’t remember that,” Victor said, and the teenager glared at him.

“You should,” he said, “’Wear this Yura, we’ll blend right in’?”

“Still not ringing a bell,” Victor shook his head, he’d done his best to burn that incident out of his brain (with little success). The whole thing had been an unmitigated disaster. Certainly not his best work, what with the swarm of demonic lobsters and the mob of screaming humans trying to make a break for the doors. Job still got done in the end, but he got The Stare™ from Lilia for such sloppy work and getting Yuri involved. Ugh.

“You took _pictures!_ ” Yuri shouted, a vein on his forehead starting to become alarmingly prominent.

“So, Mila,” Victor said, discarding his empty cup and clapping his hands together, “Tiebreaker. Any suggestions?”

Mila looked amused at the abrupt and completely unsubtle change in subject, “Rock paper scissors?”

“Simple, old-fashioned,” Victor nodded.

“Rock paper scissors, shoot,” they held out their hands – Victor’s paper against Mila’s rock. Mila glared at Victor.

“You cheated,” she accused.

“Don’t be silly, you can’t cheat at rock paper scissors,” Victor said.

“Best two out of three,” Mila demanded.

“Fine,” Victor replied.

Mila groaned in disappointment when Victor threw scissors and she threw paper, “You’re a rotten cheat, Nikiforov.”

“Don’t hate,” Victor winked, “You’ll still get your chance. Yuuri, I’ll let you set the terms.”

“Um,” the professor blinked, “No weapons, no magic?”

“Sounds good to me,” Victor agreed, tapping the mat with his foot.

“I hope he kicks your ass, baldy,” Yuri said.

“Mm, me too,” Victor said, blatantly staring at Yuuri’s backside when he set his drink and glasses down. The teenager gagged and Yuuri straightened looking visibly flustered. When he stepped onto the mat to face Victor, most of his embarrassment was replaced by his game face.

“I don’t expect you to go easy on me,” Victor said, “because I won’t do the same.”

“That’s fine by me,” Yuuri shrugged.

It was hard to tell who would strike first. Victor wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to get inside Yuuri’s guard when he saw earlier that Yuuri’s defense was pretty solid. If it were Little Yuri he was facing off against, getting him to go on the offensive would be a piece of cake – but the professor was more levelheaded and more experienced than his younger namesake.

Of course, that didn’t mean that Victor wasn’t eager to see what his boyfriend could do.

He didn’t rush him, but instead started to circle, feeling out Yuuri’s stance while tightening his radius so he could get close enough and maybe catch him off guard.

Victor’s first punch was deflected, and he has a hard time holding back his grin when Yuuri meets or dodges every punch.

“You sure you’re out of practice?” Victor asked, sweat starting to bead along his hairline and drip in slow trickles down his neck.

“I guess it’s like riding a bike,” Yuuri replied, cinnamon eyes sparkling with exhilaration. He’s barely broken a sweat and Victor is starting to realize that he needs to work on his endurance if he has any hope of matching Yuuri’s ridiculous stamina.

“You two are gross,” Yuri complained, “Can we make the gym a No Flirting Zone please?”

“No can do, Yura,” Victor said, quickly leaping back to avoid Yuuri’s hit, “You’re asking the impossible.” Yuri’s eyeroll is practically audible. Victor vaguely registers Georgi starting to give Yuri the ‘you know, you’ll meet a special someone someday’ speech and the gagging noises in response – he’s narrowing all his focus on ending the match soon before he loses anymore speed.

He catches Yuuri’s next punch, intending to lock his elbow and force him to yield but the professor unexpectedly uses Victor’s own momentum and weight to flip his legs up to catch Victor’s head between his legs and they both go down.

“Oof,” Victor wheezed, the back of his head cushioned from the impact by Yuuri’s thigh but, unfortunately, the rest of him wasn’t.

“You alright down there?” Yuuri asked.

“I’m perfect,” Victor mumbled, his chin trapped against Yuuri’s other thigh, _and trying very hard not to get a boner. No pun intended, of course._ He’s surprisingly fine with how easy Yuuri could suffocate him in this position.

 _Oh goody, I get my wish after all_ , his Libido supplies.

 _You’re not helping_ , he tells it and tries to think about something else – preferably where he went wrong during the match.

“Whatever happened to No Flirting?” Yuri complained.

“Yuuri your phone is ringing,” Mila said.

“Oh, um, can you get it please?” Yuuri replied, then paused, “Uh…Victor?”

“Just enjoying the moment,” Victor said cheerily, “Really I’m great.”

“Um…well, you didn’t yield so I was just worried that I’d-,” Yuuri began to explain and Victor imagines his slightly flustered expression.

“No no, really I’m fine,” Victor protested, then lightly tapped the mat with his hand, “You beat me, fair and square.” Yuuri’s grip on his head loosened and the leg against his throat disappeared, letting Victor sit up.

“I underestimated your stamina, Yuuri,” Victor says cheerfully, putting a hand on the back of his neck and rolling his head, “I’m _very_ impressed.” Without the sound of his blood rushing south in his ears, he can clearly hear Yuuri’s ringtone cut off when Mila answers.

“I, uh, th-thank you,” Yuuri muttered, flushing pleasantly.

“Hello?” Mila was saying, holding Yuuri’s phone to her ear, “Oh hi Dr. Bones, how are you?” They both turned to look at the redhead who looked just as amiable as she could possibly be, “Oh, you know, same old same old. Hope that offer to go bowling still stands.” Victor and Yuuri exchanged a look, “Hm? Yeah, he’s right here.”

Yuuri got up, holding his hand out for the phone when Mila handed it over, “Sensei?” he listened for a bit then frowned a little, “Yeah, why?” he turned to look at the rest of them, “Um, no we’re not busy.”

Victor, still sitting on the mat, exchanged a look with Mila – who was stealing a sip of Georgi’s smoothie – and Georgi (who was trying to get his smoothie back).

“Uh, okay,” Yuuri looked bewildered, “We’ll see you in a bit then.” He hangs up and turns slowly to look at his compatriots – two of whom are still fighting over the smoothie - , “She…wants to meet up. At NABs.”

“The fuck is ‘NABs’?” Yuri asked, crossing his arms, “And why does the cookie lady want to see us for?”

“North American Branch Headquarters,” Yuuri said, putting his glasses back on, “and she didn’t say.”

“Ooh, another field trip. How exciting,” Victor said, clapping his hands together, “I vote we get changed and go.”

“Yakov doesn’t want us leaving the continent, remember?” Georgi said, and Mila covered his mouth, his protests muffled in her palm.

“Shhh,” Mila hushed, “That’s why you’re staying behind to cover for us.” Georgi gave her a withering look, then flicked his eyes pointedly to the cup still in her other hand, “It could be important, Gosha,” she sang, and he took a moment to think about it before he looked visibly resigned.

“I know you just want to see _her_ again,” Georgi said, snatching back his smoothie, “But, who am I to stand in the way of romance?”

“Aww, I knew I could count on you, Gosha,” Mila gave him a brief appreciative hug and he rolled his eyes.

“And where are _you_ going, Yura?” Victor asked, all of them pausing to look at the teenager who was halfway to the door.

“To go change like you said, baldy,” Yuri said, turning to give him a look that said ‘Duh’, “I’ll be ready to leave in five.”

“Isn’t it a school night?” Victor asked, tilting his head.

“I can always catch up. I practically sleep through my lessons anyway,” Yuri waved him off, picking up his bag and marching off to the locker rooms.

“He’s so cute when he’s eager,” Mila said fondly, shaking her head.

“I heard that!” Yuri yelled.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cue Spongebob Title Card: _One Month Later_ ] Uh...'Sup? I would've posted this _a lot_ sooner but new job is figuratively kicking my ass and I've been too tired to live let alone write, but that's what I get for signing on to be in the medical field. 
> 
> Now, you may have noticed that this fic is now part of a series. Will I regret it? There's a distinct possibility. I mean, I haven't even finished this piece yet and I'm already writing something else. I thought about posting some tidbits/sneak peeks on my dusty ass tumblr, but, ehh... I'm not sure when the next part will be up because I don't know when I'll have time to finish anything. But, thanks for hanging in there. I purple y'all. <3


	14. This is Fine

_May 2019; North American Branch Headquarters – Ottawa_

The innocuous dirt lot just beyond the edge of the city center seemed oddly out of place, and yet nobody glanced twice at the faded sign that had been vandalized to the point of illegibility. Only a few letters were somewhat visible through the colorful layer of spray paint, spelling out N-A-B (if you squinted _really_ hard). Victor wouldn’t be surprised if somebody had actually attempted to buy this lot in the past. 

“Is…this it?” Yuri asked, giving Yuuri a skeptical look like somehow it's his fault that the civilian entrance to North American Branch Headquarters is disguised as a dirt pile. 

“I thought the whole point of having a civilian entrance was to encourage discretion,” Mila commented, “but wouldn’t people disappearing into an empty lot raise mundane suspicion?” 

“You make a very valid argument, Mila,” Yuuri nodded, “which of course means that the Council wouldn’t listen to it.”

Mila and Victor both snorted their agreement. It makes perfect sense that incompetence in supernatural politics is the same here as it is in the rest of the world – which is both reassuring and terrifying.

They step off the sidewalk and into the lot – but their feet never touch dry dirt. Instead, they’re standing in the middle of a glossy corporate lobby and behind them is a wall of glass letting in copious amounts of late morning sunshine. 

It was…quieter than Victor had expected it to be.

While European Branch always seemed to be in a state of barely organized chaos, here there were fewer people in the lobby; everyone walked faster, and no one seemed to want to stop for a chat. The lobby was wide-open space with pale marble floors and pale grey walls. There weren’t any marble pillars with the classic Corinthian orders that Victor was used to seeing or empty iron torch brackets set into the wall for aesthetic purposes. It was minimalist and modern and a complete deviation from what Victor had been expecting. There was an information desk and then a security barrier at the borders of the lobby, preventing civilian access to the other departments.

“They redecorated a bit,” Yuuri commented while looking around, “Not sure if I like it.”

“What did it look like before?” Yuri asked skeptically.

“Less pastel and more…dark grey, I guess?” Yuuri asked, gesticulating vaguely with his hands. Yuri just squinted at him and shrugged.

“So, this is ‘NABs’,” Victor said, “Not quite what I was expecting.” Based on the few stories that filtered down the grapevine, he’d imagined a place with a questionable color scheme in a state of complete disarray and verified anarchy. Instead, it’s a quiet tightly-controlled corporate-style environment, which makes perfect sense since the North American continent – the United States especially – has more Sub-quarters per square mile than Europe.

“I like it,” Mila said cheerfully, “Modern look for the modern age.”

“Instead of gawking over the décor, shouldn’t we be headed towards HUNTER?” Yuri snapped.

“We can’t just yet,” Yuuri said, “since you’re still a civilian we have to get you access.”

Apparently, that means going up to the large desk in the middle of the lobby currently manned by a dapper young witch with dark purple hair whose eyes go wide when he looks up and sees Yuuri.

“Uh, hello,” he says.

“I hate to trouble you,” Yuuri begins politely, “but we need a guest pass for our young friend here.” Little Yuri’s displeased expression becomes an outright scowl. Victor doesn’t know quite when Yuuri pulled out his old dog tags to rest on the top of his shirt, but the receptionist barely glances at them when he looks past Yuuri at the clearly unhappy teenager.

“Of course, Special Agent Katsuki,” the receptionist says warily, “Give me a second here.”

Yuri is made to sign his name under an agreement to comply with the Code under the Agency’s roof that includes what should happen if he attempts to leave with the pass or reenter the secure parts of the building after his access has expired.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Yuri grumbles while the receptionist summarizes the consequences for failure to comply with aforementioned agreement while sliding a bracelet onto his wrist. It shrinks to fit securely to Yuri’s wrist and then flashes green.

“Please note, your access will expire after fourteen hours,” the receptionist continued, “after that you’ll have to come here to get it renewed.”

“Wonderful,” Yuri deadpanned then turned on his heel and stomped off.

“Um, the HUNTER Department is that way,” Yuuri said, pointing in a different direction making Little Yuri stop, huff, and turn around. “We’re sorry about him,” Yuuri apologized to the receptionist, “Have a great day.”

“I’m not all that bothered by it,” the receptionist smiled, “Have a great day, Special Agent Katsuki.”

“Friend of yours?” Mila asked when they got out of earshot.

“Not really,” Yuuri denied, looking vaguely uncomfortable, “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Wow does that mean you’re famous Yuuri?” Victor said and Yuuri grimaced. Mila jabs her elbow into Victor’s ribs and gives him a Look which is always Victor’s cue to _stop talking_ (for once, Victor actually listens).

From a distance the security gate looks like it’s made from solid white marble but as they get closer, it’s easier to see the runes bored into every inch of available stone. Victor can feel the light hum that comes off the gate when they’re within two feet of the barrier and it stays level as they walk through, the runes hardly reacting to their presence.

They take an elevator to the fourteenth floor and Yuuri leads them down a short series of hallways until they reach a set of double doors labeled with the Greek letter Gamma. The office inside looks similar to their office space back at EBHQ – large desks with one or two monitors, some piled high with paperwork, arranged in adjacent pairs – with some differences. There’s a Glass at the head of the room and there’s no other signs of this being any one but the Gamma Unit’s primary work space.

“Well, you got here sooner than expected,” Jade says from across the room, standing in front of a kind of familiar distraught-looking young man with Celestino next to her looking quite concerned. She’s cut her hair since they’ve last seen her, and her short-sleeved shirt displays all of her tattoos, but she otherwise looks the same if slightly more tired.

Victor doesn’t respond with a quip of his own, if only because he’s staring in mildly appalled horror at the tan suit Celestino is wearing that looks like it came from the set of a cheap 80s sitcom. Seriously, his eyes are _offended_.

“I assumed it was an emergency,” Yuuri said, “Just based on the lack of context and all.”

“I wouldn’t call it an emergency just yet,” Dr. Bones replied, “But we are a little pressed for time.”

“Where is everybody?” Yuuri asked.

“They’re working other cases right now,” Celestino answered, “It’s good to see you all again. Even if the circumstances aren’t necessarily the best.”

“Likewise,” Victor replied, “even though there aren’t any cookies.”

“So, what’s up?” Mila asked, “Based on how unhappy Leo looks over there I’d say it’s nothing good.”

“I think he’s better off explaining why you’re here himself,” Jade said.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Leo warned, frowning, “and maybe I’m just overthinking it-“ he shakes his head, “About a week ago, a friend of mine and I went to a concert in Oakland. When we got back he started acting all weird.”

Victor exchanges a look with Mila and Yuuri – obviously neither of them like where this is going either.

“He seemed kind of…out of it? At first, he just seemed more tired than usual and kinda inattentive. But, then I noticed that he wasn’t eating, and he started skipping classes which is _not_ like him. At all. Guang Hong’s a straight-A student and a nursing major. He can’t afford to miss any classes.”

He most definitely doesn’t like where this is going. So far, Leo’s going through and waving _all_ the red flags. But, he still doesn’t get why they were called halfway across the world to deal with what is turning into a classic case of demonic possession. 

“So…what the fuck does that have to do with us?” Yuri asked (again doing that thing where he somehow puts Victor’s thoughts into words…but, somehow, with a lot less tact). Jade gives the teenager a flat look.

“Let him finish, Yura,” Victor chides. Yuri turns to give them all ‘WTF’ looks but he – miraculously – keeps his mouth shut.

“I went to go look for him last night,” Leo said, “On campus, we have this thing called Yik Yak, and people were posting about this guy wandering around the tennis center in his Deadpool pajamas after hours and I found him there and…” Leo shivers. Victor’s guessing this is the part where Leo describes his friend in the early stages of deep thrall. “When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was looking for Victor.”

There it is.

“We have a TA named Victor, but when I said, ‘You can see him at office hours’, he just…the way he looked at me then I’d never been so scared,” Leo said, “I mean, in Intelligence we hear about possession cases once in a blue moon but this? I don’t think any training could’ve prepared me for this.”

“Ha,” Mila snorted, “accurate.”

“May I ask where your friend is now?” Victor said. In the back of his head, he’s thoroughly disturbed that he’s been singled out by a target he blew up just a few short weeks ago. On one hand, he gets it – being blown up can be highly inconvenient. Very upsetting. On the other, he’s annoyed: when things blow up they should _stay_ blown up. He doesn’t believe that anything is truly permanent but that’s one of the few exceptions on his list.

“He’s gone,” Leo said, “I managed to get him back to the dorm last night but this morning he just vanished. Nobody’s seen or heard from him.”

“I see,” Victor murmurs.

“Do you know why Guang Hong was singled out?” Leo asked, “Sure, he’s a talented witch but don’t demons usually go for Warlocks?”

“Not necessarily,” Yuuri said, “Most possession cases that come up on our board are a direct consequence of a summoning gone wrong – which usually involve Warlocks. Sometimes the physical form will be damaged during the ritual or magical energies get muddled up in the exchange of power. Really, it’s a lot of different things. In this particular case, I just think it’s just ‘wrong place wrong time’.”

“Have you reported this to anyone else?” Mila asked, “Filed a missing person’s report?”

“I-I haven’t even told his parents,” Leo said hoarsely.

“Leo came straight to me,” Jade said, “He works closely with our Unit as a liaison between Intelligence and HUNTER.”

“I…it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” Leo added, “Just…how do you break that kind of news to someone?”

“You sure you work in Intelligence?” Yuri eyes him skeptically, “Isn’t your job mostly bad news?” Mila puts a hand on Yuri’s face to get him to shut up.

“So, on paper, there’s no case,” Mila said, ignoring Yuri’s flailing and muffled protests, “This is all off the books?”

“Mila, I think you’re suffocating him,” Yuuri warned quietly, his hands going to pry Mila’s hand off their intern’s face.

“It’s off book _for now_ ,” Celestino said and Victor feels somewhat lightened by that, “but after twenty-four hours Leo _has_ to file the report and Gamma Unit formally takes over the case. I can’t condone anything further than that.”

“Which means we have to work fast. Got it,” Victor nodded, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“You’re going to look for him?” Leo asked, sounding surprised, “Even without the report?”

“Of course,” Victor said cheerfully, “we can’t have Ga’mal running around using your friend as a skinsuit as evidence of my blatant error in technique, now can we?” Leo looks faintly sick.

“I…guess not?” Leo says.  

Mila facepalmed, “See? This is why you’re not on comfort duty. Ever,” she muttered in Russian.

Jade steps in and convinces Leo to go about his business even though the young man insists on helping.

“I’m not getting into another argument with Carol because you wanted to help out on an unauthorized venture,” Jade said, “Besides, where we’re going, you’re definitely not prepared for.” Leo deflates at that but he (reluctantly) leaves the office.

“If we need technical support, Mila will do just fine,” Victor said, “She’s the best computer whiz in Europe.”

“Don’t _ever_ call me a computer whiz again,” Mila told him.

“Best _technology_ whiz in Europe,” Victor corrected. Mila sighed.

“I guess that’s fine,” she muttered, “So, we establish a geo-profile and then go from there?”

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that I did some digging after Leo told me what happened,” Jade picked up her tablet off her desk and turned it on.

“I was hoping you weren’t being rude on purpose,” Celestino said, peeking over her shoulder, “and I was right.”

“Yes, this time I had a reason to be rude,” Jade deadpanned and held up her tablet, “There have been two others in the San Francisco area, both turned up dead days within going missing and both of whom are Ward witches.” She gave the screen a tap and the Glass behind her at the front of the room lit up with images.

This was turning out to be a godsdamned _nightmare_. Seriously, the summers he spent with his Uncle Vasily doing drills in the Sahara were preferable to the absolute catastrophe currently playing out in front of him.

Mila rubs her forehead looking about as done as Victor feels, “I feel like we _just_ did this. Oh wait, ‘cause we did. All that’s missing is the fucking creepy circles and we’re all set.” She throws a sarcastic thumbs up for good measure.

“No extraction matrices,” Jade promised, “at least, not yet.”

“You just had to throw the ‘yet’ in there,” Mila muttered, “Not like we don’t have enough on our plate as it is.”

One victim is a female in her early thirties, a librarian whose wife reported her missing. The statement submitted to the NPs at the San Francisco Sub-quarter has all the classic red flags: the drastic behavioral changes, sleeping problems and lack of appetite.

The second is a student who’d come home for the summer and had gone missing a week after the start of vacation. Neither of these two led high risk lifestyles and there were no similarities between the two besides their magical affinities.

“Have the autopsies been released?” Yuuri asked.

“They hadn’t even been autopsied,” Jade said, “The San Francisco Sub-quarter is a little backlogged at the moment. But, I pulled some strings and had them moved downstairs. Circe should be processing them now.”

For some reason, Victor immediately pictures this woman smuggling two body bags into a dusty basement refrigerator – which is obviously ridiculous, she’d have them stored in an industrial freezer because she’s more competent than that.

They take a little trip to the Analyst Department which is entirely adjacent to the HUNTER Department. The labs where the bodies are examined are on an entirely separate set of floors from the techs that examine and process physical evidence.

Jade gives a proprietary knock on one of the swinging doors to one of the labs before pushing it open to look inside where there’s a vampire with holographic hair in navy scrubs and a white lab coat using an electric bone saw on a rather unfortunate corpse laid out on one of her examination tables. She turns off the bone saw when they walk in and lifts her face shield.

“Oh, you brought friends,” Circe says brightly.

“I did,” Jade replied, “This is Agent Nikiforov and Agent Babicheva with their intern from the European HUNTER Unit I mentioned earlier.”

“And Yuuri Katsuki,” Circe grinned, her fangs flashing in the bright fluorescent lights, “as I live and breathe. About time you paid us a visit.”

“Hi Circe,” Yuuri said, looking a little sheepish at the light scolding, “It’s good to see you.”

“You troublemaker you. Don’t be such a stranger from now on,” Circe said, shedding her gloves and smacking him lightly on the arm, “Now, I know you all didn’t come to see me, you came to visit my friends over here.”

She changes her gloves and opens the librarian’s cubby first; the poor woman comes sliding out with a low pneumatic hiss. She’s been cleaned up and it’s obvious that Circe has already performed the autopsy based on the y-incision. There aren’t any other marks on her otherwise. Not a single new scratch or scar.

“Janet Gutierrez, thirty-nine years old, Ward witch,” Circe recited, “Primary cause of death was the explant of the heart and lungs, though she was well on her way to being dead before then. The poor girl was severely dehydrated and malnourished. I’d even go so far as to say she was put out of her misery. Dehydration is a slow horrible death.”

“And she had no marks on her when she came to you?” Victor asked, leaning over to look a little closer at her. There are no signs of magic drain on her skin which would’ve only become more prominent after her death – he’s learned that much from hanging around Georgi for so long.

“None whatsoever, mysterious-Russian-Agent-who’s-name-escapes-me,” Circe says, “Look, I haven’t even cut into the second one yet.”

She opens the second cubby and the college student rolls out. The body has been cleaned and there’s a toe tag attached to her large index toe. It’s easier to see the yellow tint to her pale skin compared to the more olive-skinned Janet.

“That’s not creepy at all,” Yuri muttered.

“Ann Marie Reasonover, twenty-two, Ward witch,” Circe says, “And as you can see, she’s clean as a whistle.” She gestures to the body like they’re in a show room and the corpse is a shiny new car. “Not a single scratch, bruise, or welt in sight.” Circe picks up one of the girl’s arms and turns it supine to emphasize the lack of bruises or welts that would’ve shown up along the radial artery. “On preliminary exam, I determined she was malnourished and severely dehydrated pre-mortem,” she gestures along the prominent ribs and sunken eyes, then lifts one of the girl’s eyelids – the sclera around her visibly clouded corneas are jaundiced.

“It’s typical in possession cases that the victims exhibit signs like this,” Circe continued, “Magical victims tend to last a little longer than mundane, but not by much. The organ-stealing is pretty atypical though. Usually, the victims are just exhausted to death. The monster you’re looking for is strong enough to put this much strain on the victim’s bodies in such a short amount of time. Based on how severely they were deteriorated, I’d say they were in deep thrall for about four days.”

“Well that’s some good news,” Victor said cheerfully, “Plenty of time to locate young Mr. Ji.”

“Getting the geo-profile down shouldn’t take too long,” Mila confirmed, “and with his friend in Intelligence reporting his disappearance so early, we’ll be able to track him down no problem.”

“And what the hell are we supposed to do when we find him, geniuses?” Yuri demanded, “Perform an exorcism like mundanes?”

“Of course not, Yura,” Victor said, waving him off, “We’ll do it properly of course. We _are_ Exorcists. Honestly, what do they teach you at that Academy?” Yuri gives him a dirty look at that.

“Sometimes I wonder if you actually listen to the bullshit that comes out of your mouth,” Yuri said.

Circe bumped the two ladies back into their cubbies and the doors shut and lock behind them with a little click, “I’ll most likely have the full report done by tonight once I actually perform a complete autopsy on Miss Ann Marie.”

“You do excellent work,” Victor told her, “Truly.”

“Aw, stop, you’re makin’ me blush,” Circe batted her eyelashes and sweetly (sarcastically) flashed her fangs, “you flatterer, you.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, Circe,” Jade added, turning to leave, “We’ll let you get back to… _that_.” she looked pointedly at the corpulent man still on the table with his cranium ready to be popped off like the lid to a tin can.

“Later Hot Stuff,” Circe waved flirtatiously at Jade’s back and winked at Yuuri who rolled his eyes fondly and waved goodbye.

“Looks like you’ve got competition Mila,” Victor commented when they’ve left the freezer well behind and narrowly avoids Mila’s hard strike to his ribs. Yuri gives Victor an odd look for his comment.

“Based on Circe’s assessment,” Yuuri says as they pile into the elevator, “we’re probably dealing with an older demon here.”

“Most likely,” Jade agreed, “It’s running each person it takes into the ground far too quickly. Suppressing basic survival skills and ignoring the needs of its vessel suggest desperation on some level.”

Based on all the demonology books that Victor has ever read ever, human possession cases are rare simply because most variant subspecies do not have the ability to possess another living thing and the ones that do would rather not rely on a human skin suit.

“Ga’mal is awfully fixated on Ward magic, isn’t he?” Victor mused as the elevator dinged.

“I’ll say,” Mila snorted. Jade paused at the threshold of the elevator, causing the rest of them to run into her.

“Ga’mal?” Jade repeated, “As in, there’s no real name for this demon?”

“Ga’mal was the name Chevalier was given when he formed the contract,” Mila explained, “And we all know how well _that_ turned out.”

Jade lets out a sigh as she crosses the floor towards Gamma Unit doors, “Well, our job just got a whole lot more difficult. Ga’mal is a generic name – basically it’s like calling someone ‘Hey you’, Jane Doe, or John Smith.”

“I tried to find out what sub-species it was based on its features,” Victor said, “I didn’t find very much, even in our Archives.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jade said flatly, picking up her tablet and giving it a tap to wake up the Glass, “There’s a lot we don’t know about demons. The various ruling class species have managed to remain a bit of a mystery since the founding of our institution which is a crying shame.”

And they still don’t know if Ga’mal has managed to hold on to all the magic its gathered in the past few months which means they’ll have to prepare for the worst. But, the show must go on. Circe had given them a timeline that guaranteed that Guang Hong wasn’t in immediate danger of losing his life, but that didn’t mean the administrative time crunch was moot. Victor was going to see this done before the twenty-four hour limit was up and the NAB Council played the jurisdiction card.

Establishing the geo-profile doesn’t take that long. It had been Chevalier’s prerogative to hunt for his targets in Europe to throw off the scent but Ga’mal clearly didn’t have a problem staying local, otherwise he would’ve taken his first victim and gone on an international stroll.

Still, Victor can’t help but feel excited. He missed out on most of the fight last time by nearly bleeding to death in the middle of Chevalier’s library and he’s determined not to let it get the drop on him this time. Sure, he got his payback but what’s the point of payback if you can’t enjoy it?

“Where’s mine?” Yuri demands when Victor conjures gear for himself, Yuuri, and Mila.

“No brats allowed,” Victor says sweetly and Yuri glares at him.

“I think you’re better off sitting this one out, kitten,” Mila says, then looks at Jade, “Bathroom?”

“I’ll show you,” Jade tells her, “It’s just down the hall.”

“I didn’t come all this way just to watch you sit around and talk and then leave me behind when the real action starts,” Yuri said, “You need me out there, and you know it.” Victor doesn’t even know why they’re arguing about this. Yuri knows the Code better than Victor does and the consequences if something were to happen to him on Victor's watch. Already Victor's racking up the charges in his head and 'knowingly endangering a civilian' is at the tippy top of the list. 

“No. What I _need_ is for you to stay out of trouble,” Victor said, “If something happens to you on my watch, it’s my ass.”

“Actually, it’s mine,” Yuri rebutted, “It’s _my_ ass, so it’s _my_ choice and I want to fight.”

“How about a compromise?” Yuuri intervenes.

“There’s no compromising with his ass,” Yuri snaps, pointing a finger at Victor’s nose. Victor moves his hand out of the way.

“Funny, I could say the same about you,” Victor said.

“We do need more eyes out there,” Yuuri said, “There’s a lot of LA and there’s four of us. But, once we locate the target you step back and let us handle it. Deal?” Yuri’s expression is still a little sour at being told he’s not allowed to engage.

“Deal,” he bites out.

“I don’t like this,” Victor tells Yuuri later while they change, “Bringing him along? It’s asking for something to happen.”

“We can’t shield him from everything, Victor,” Yuuri said shrugging out of his t-shirt and giving Victor a better glimpse of the tattoo that spiders out across his ribs and follows the contours of his muscles, “He’s going to get out there eventually and see what it’s like.”

“Do you honestly think he’ll step back once the fighting starts?” Victor asked, “Because I don’t.”

“Honestly, I don’t either,” Yuuri admitted, “But, he would’ve found a way to follow us and gotten into even more trouble. Better that we know he’s there and we can make contingencies.” Yuuri then shucks off his pants and Victor fixates on making sure his bootlaces are nice and tight (if he doesn’t he’ll fixate on how gorgeous Yuuri is and they’ll never leave the locker room). He looks up when he’s sure that it’s safe and sees Yuuri sweeping his fringe back off his forehead and drawing a Ward around his eyes that flashes silver before turning black and disappearing into his skin.

“Ready?” Victor asked, holding out a comms unit and watching Yuuri put it in his ear.

“Yep,” Yuuri replied, he looks a little on edge but otherwise calm. An aura that Victor’s only seen the once in the back alleyways of Florence settles into the fixed line of Yuuri’s shoulders. Victor takes his hand, weaving their fingers together.

“We all go home tonight,” Victor told him, “No unexpected hospital visits. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Yuuri said seriously and relaxed a little.

“Pinky swear,” Victor said and held up his pinky on his free hand. Yuuri gives him an amused look. “They’re binding,” Victor told him, “My little sister told me so.”

Yuuri holds out his pinky and they link for a good five seconds.

“I hear kisses are binding too,” Victor winked. Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“I’ll give you a freebie on this one,” Yuuri said and stole a kiss before turning and leaving the locker room.

“Wow,” Victor grinned, trailing after him.

Yuri gives them both a borderline disgusted up-down when they back to the office, “Oh good, and here I thought I was going to have to come get you and walk in on you two being gross. Again.”

“Don’t be silly, Yura, we’re professionals,” Victor said, still grinning, “We would’ve been done before you walked in.” Yuuri turns a bright red and covers his face while Little Yuri gives him a disgusted look.

“Gods, you're gross,” Yuri said.

When Jade and Mila get back, a map of Los Angeles is pulled up onto the Glass and the city is just as dense as he was expecting it to be. Mila is giving the map a distinct look of distaste while she rolls up the long sleeves of her nanofiber shirt.

“We’ll keep the plan simple,” Jade started, “track down Guang Hong, restrain him, extract the target.”

“I can work with that,” Victor agrees and glances at his colleagues who nod (Mila gives him the ‘ok’ sign).

“We should start from the dormitory,” Jade said and tapped the Glass, zooming in on a dense area of the city that Google Maps has helpfully labeled the University of California Los Angeles campus, “If we get a strand of hair for a tracking spell that’ll make outlining the tracking radius so much easier.”

“Agreed,” Victor said. Jade tilted her head to look at Yuri who’s sitting on top of a desk and listening raptly but still looking vaguely annoyed.

“And I’m guessing the intern is tagging along?”

“He is,” Victor said and gets a look from Mila.

“He can hear you,” Yuri said loudly. Jade gives him a once over.

“I’ll allow it as long as you keep yourself from becoming a liability,” she said, “There are lives at stake. Understood?”

“Yes,” Yuri replies and Victor’s surprised that there’s not an ounce of sarcasm or sass in that one syllable.

Jade does the honors of opening the Portal, “Shall we?”

Mila steps forward to walk through first with Jade who asks, “Have you ever been to Los Angeles?”

“I have,” Mila said, “It’s a real shithole.”  

Jade’s Portal lets out onto a quiet little section of the city in a residential area across the street from an apartment complex. Mila’s nose is wrinkled in disgust and she lets out a little retching noise.

“Ugh, the air is disgusting here,” she said, “I wish I didn’t have a nose.” Yuuri pats her consolingly on the shoulder.

“We’ll be in and out, Milochka,” Victor promised.

“Urgh,” she pouted.

Guang Hong’s apartment is a little disorganized when they get inside but it’s probably cleaner than the average college student’s apartment. There are notebooks and pens scattered all over the coffee table, and an abandoned laptop covered in stickers left on its charger on top of what looks like a shiny new textbook. There are dirty dishes in the sink which have begun to attract flies and there’s a spilled bottle of over the counter pain pills on the kitchen counter.

The bedroom is a bit messier – the bed is unmade, there are posters on the walls and a disheveled basket of (hopefully clean) laundry in the middle of the floor, and the bathroom isn’t that much better, but it makes his job easier. He pulls a few strands of hair out of the hairbrush left by the sink and congregates with the others by the small dining table where Jade lays out a foldable gas station map of Los Angeles.

He rolls the hair into a little ball, murmuring in Latin and the strands crumbled into a fine dust into his palm that he sprinkles onto the map. It takes a moment for the dust to move and gather itself into a haphazard pile over the whole of East Los Angeles.

“Is that it?” Yuri asked.

“That’s it,” Victor confirmed.

“Lame,” Yuri muttered.

Jade and Victor both take samples of Guang Hong’s hair in secure paper packets and she hands him a duplicate of the gas station map and they break off into pairs – well, with Victor and Yuuri plus one grouchy intern (Victor sends a little ‘you’re welcome’ wink at Mila when Jade turns towards the front door and he gets an eyeroll. He knows she’s grateful).

“Great, I’m stuck with you two weirdos,” Yuri mutters when Mila and Jade head in the opposite direction, "Again." 

“I can always send you home, Yura,” Victor says brightly and gets a grudging silence in return. Victor checks his watch to note the time and glances at Yuuri. Yeah, everything’ll be fine.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiiiiiive! (Unfortunately.)
> 
> Holy shit, I thought I was going to be able to get this out sooner but NOPE. Thankfully, I (somehow) managed to squeeze in a little bit of time to finish this even though I've got a convention coming up this week and a cosplay that I've been scrambling to finish 'cause your girl here does not know how to manage her time (Clearly). 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for being so patient. I've been working on a few drabbles in the Lux 'verse that I'll probably start posting soon so keep an eye out, yeah? (Or don't, I won't judge.) Laters!


	15. Error 404: These Fucks Do Not Exist

_May 2019; Los Angeles_

The building is nondescript and covered in tacky graffiti and there are hardly any windows save for two tiny grime-covered panes of glass that are most likely meant to provide a view from the bathrooms inside. Victor is kind of surprised that the place isn't surrounded by piles of garbage with a stinking dumpster that’s seen its fair share of illegal fires and body dumps but it’s surprisingly clean. 

“ _This_ place?” Yuri asked, “What the hell’s so important here that we need to waste precious time skulking around a dump like this?”

“Information,” Yuuri said, “In a city this dense, we’re running blind. I’m sure Jade-sensei is asking around her other sources too.”

The door is an offensively bright orange with peeling yellow accents and next to it is a door bell with an intercom attached that’s obviously seen better days. Victor doesn’t spot any cameras, but he does get the oddest feeling that they’re being watched.

Yuuri presses the button and waits for someone to respond. A minute goes by before he presses again.

“The fuck you want?” snaps the voice on the other end.

“I’d like to speak to Bunny please,” Yuuri replies politely. Victor and Yuri exchange a brief look. 

“Your kind aren’t welcome here,” she says.

The weight of the tags against Victor’s chest suddenly become a little more prevalent and the level of shady goes up about five-hundred percent.  

 _Ah, so they_ do _have a surveillance system,_ he thinks. Whoever this ‘Bunny’ is he probably doesn’t use cameras like any respectable businessman…or woman. 

“Just tell him that Eros would like to speak to him please,” Yuuri said. There's a tiny 'blip' and then silence. Victor wonders why anyone would employ someone so rude, but then again this is a criminal establishment. Customer service skills probably aren't a requirement here. 

“Eros, hm?” Victor raised his eyebrows suggestively, “How appropriate, _Yuu_ ri.” the other Hunter turned faintly pink at Victor’s blatant flirting.

“Ugh,” Yuri rolled his eyes.

The door suddenly opens, dislodging some of the peeling paint in the process and a young girl – presumably the one they’d spoken to just a short minute ago – with an overwhelmingly welcoming (note the sarcasm) attitude greets them at the door. She pops her gum and gives them all a look filled with the same disdain Victor only reserves for people who hate dogs.

“Bunny’s in the back,” she says, gesturing halfheartedly towards the inside and watches them all file in, meeting Yuri’s glare with an unimpressed blink.

The inside of the building has been magically expanded to give the place a fifty-foot ceiling and a multi-tier dance floor. The walls are a deep red, the floors a rich black marble with inset LED lights leading towards the dance floor, and there are several workers behind the absolutely gigantic bar taking inventory and stocking up for the weekend who all stop to give the two Exorcists – and their teenage companion – suspicious (and some hostile) looks.

“What is it that they say in American? Something about a welcome cart?” Victor commented.

“Welcome wagon,” Yuuri said, “’Rolling out the welcome wagon’.”

“Cart, wagon,” Yuri muttered in English, “either way, it fucking sucks.”

There’s an entryway just off the dance floor that’s curtained off and flanked by two body guards that look like they were borrowed straight from an old Hollywood mobster movie – tall, and too beefy to look like they had brains worth a damn, but he could be wrong. Beside him, the teenager is tense and they stick close to Yuuri’s back who is surprisingly calm and relaxed as the guards lift the curtain out of the way for them to pass through.

“Thanks, gents. I appreciate it,” Victor smiled at the two Beeves-For-Brains.

The curtain falls behind them, and they follow Yuuri to a large open lounge. A private bar covers one wall with a dapper bartender behind it cleaning and stacking glasses. Plush chairs and couches are arranged neatly and comfortably throughout the undoubtedly private space. The black wood flooring around the base of the bar extends out to half the room before turning into rich carpeting. Victor counts three exits: the one behind them, the main ventilation shaft above the bar in the left-hand corner, and what looks like a trap door hidden behind the largest – and plushest – couch of all currently occupied by ‘Bunny’.

Now, Victor had been half-expecting a stereotypical voluptuous woman running some sort of classy underground crime ring with a nickname like ‘Bunny’. Instead, the man sitting there looks like he got plucked from some sort K-Pop idol magazine. His hair is artificially gray, styled to perfection and he isn’t wearing shoes. His shirt is partially unbuttoned, and his slacks and silk kimono hang artfully loose on his frame.

“Eros,” he greets with a dry little smile, “just as ravishing as ever.”

Victor officially hates him.

“Cao Bin,” Yuuri replies with the easy politeness from earlier, “Thank you for seeing me.” he bows slightly, and Cao Bin returns it with a slight dip of the head.

“You brought friends,” the crime boss replies, his eyes flicking disdainfully over Yuri and lingering just a second too long on Victor, “How nice,” he comments flatly.

“These are my colleagues,” Yuuri straightened, “We’re looking for someone. A witch, male, around 20 years old.”

“Hm,” Cao Bin nodded, running his tongue over his teeth, “And you came here because…?”

“The witch is possessed,” Victor said.

“And if anyone would know anything about a possible demon lord surfacing in East LA, it would be you,” Yuuri said quickly, perhaps trying to keep Victor from talking too much – which Victor takes as his cue to keep _himself_ from talking too much. As much as he dislikes this man (despite their obviously mutual appreciation for Yuuri’s beauty) half the things he wants to say would probably defeat the purpose of coming here and cause unnecessary grief.

Never let it be said that Victor Nikiforov doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Hm,” Cao Bin hums and then motions to the bartender – and when he turns his head, they can see his delicately pointed ears –, “flattery will get you nowhere, Eros- _kun_.” The little Japanese suffix is tacked on almost mockingly, “Even if it is true.” He delicately plucks his martini from the tray when the bartender brings it over and he gives the drink a delicate little swirl. Victor grabs Yuri’s wrist and gives it a warning squeeze when the first few notes of ozone began to waft from the teenager.

 _Patience_ , he wishes he could say aloud, _negotiating with people like this takes gumption. There is a lesson to be learned here._

“So, you have no intention of honoring your debt then,” Yuuri’s voice went a little flat.

“I have no intention of honoring the promise I made to a _liar_ ,” Cao Bin said coldly over the lip of his martini glass. And Victor couldn’t help but snort at that, earning the faerie’s chilly gaze, “Something to say, _foreigner?_ ”

“Give me a break,” Victor said before his brain could put the brakes on his mouth, “you sound a petty ex-boyfriend, and this is supposed to be a business arrangement. If you’re just going to waste more of our time, then we’ll be going. Unlike you, we don’t have the luxury of laying around all day in our silk pajamas.”

Cao Bin’s eyes narrowed and his grasp on the thin stem of the glass tightened.

“Bunny,” Yuuri said, and the faerie freezes at the nickname, “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. All I ask is that you tell us what you know, and I’ll consider the debt fulfilled. And as a bonus, you never have to hear from me again.” 

Dark eyes inspect the professor for an uncomfortably long moment. “You’ve come an awful long way from the little theater you used to dance in,” Cao Bin finally murmured, plucking the olive from his drink and eating it, toothpick and all. “There were rumors of a magical disturbance near El Callejón. I sincerely hope, whatever it is, finds you first.”

Yuuri inclines his head and turns to leave. “And Eros?” Yuuri pauses. “If you come here again, your welcome will not be so warm.”

“ _Wakatta_ ,” Yuuri replies.

Victor’s tempted to start a small fire behind the bar, but he knows Yuuri would give him the Eyebrows of Disappointment, so he refrains and instead sticks close to him. Aether continuously curls around his fingers, threatening to become cohesive when the guards glare at their backs from behind their idiotic sunglasses. The girl that let them in flips them off on the way out the door and Yuri makes a face at her before sticking both his middle fingers up.

“How uncouth, Yura,” Victor lightly (half-heartedly) scolds in Russian.

“She started it,” the teenager snaps and the door closed with a light squeak behind them.

Victor has a lot of questions, but there’s very little time for answers. Ugh.

“Next stop is El Callejón,” Victor said, then paused, “Where is El Callejón?”

“It means ‘The Alley’,” Yuuri said, “And that could be anywhere in LA.”

“No one belonging to the magical underground is going to give us the time of day either,” Victor said, “so asking a local is out.”

“That was the only favor I had,” Yuuri said, gesturing back in the direction of the club.

And going back in there to ask for directions is…not exactly an option.

But, first things first: update the team. 

“Remember the last time you got ‘information’ from a faerie?” Mila said (Victor can definitely hear those finger quotes), “This is just like that.”

“It wasn’t even that bad. We still finished the mission,” Victor said, “Plus, this time is different. Yuuri was there.”  

“Curious that the disturbance was reportedly near El Callejón,” Jade mused, “I think we’ll have to regroup for this one.”

Apparently ‘The Alley’ isn’t actually an alley. Not anymore. Jade explains that one of the most popular spots to buy, trade, and sell magical contraband used to be a series of interconnecting alleyways that got raided back in the early nineties.

“It moved underground,” she explained, “Literally. There’s an old metro tunnel that became the new hub, but if we’re going to investigate we can’t be obvious about it. There’s no violence allowed, but that won’t stop people with a grudge from following or chasing us out and instigating a fight after.”

Their combat gear isn’t too overt that anyone on the street would look at them sideways. And in a city with an ‘anything goes’ attitude to rival New York, that’s not saying very much. But, to the supernatural community, their tags and Mila’s jacket bearing the HUNTER Department seal are a dead giveaway.

So, Victor banishes Mila’s jacket and they tuck away their tags. Jade dons an oversized hoodie and a black face mask, and Yuri just scowls and buries his hands in the pockets of his ostentatious tiger print skinny jeans.

Victor briefly considers conjuring a hat to cover his hair, but if he’s going to be half-decent bait wearing one would defeat the purpose. He opens his senses while they descend underground and nearly gives himself an immediate headache with all the sensory information that pours into his brain at once. Yuuri, Yuri, and Jade are the 'loudest' since they're the closest to him, and the rest are cloistered tightly together, making it difficult to pick out individual magical signatures.

El Callejón is hidden behind the illusion of a cracked concrete wall. When they pass through, the dark of the metro tunnels is left behind for a colorfully lit tent city. Booths, tables, and little tents are arranged haphazardly, each one selling different goods or services. It’s loud and diversely populated. There are witches selling charms and amulets, and a shady looking Warlock selling potions in colorful little vials. A cheerful werewolf sells street tacos out of his food truck parked amongst the chaos (Victor notices that some of the protein options are…questionable).

“Wow,” Mila murmured. 

It would be too easy to get lost here. The crowd is dense and the hodge podge arrangement of the vendors break up the visual pattern too well which makes it very hard to spot just one target individual even from above. Which was probably done on purpose in the event of another raid. How clever.

“I’m assuming we’ll let Ga’mal come to us then,” Victor said, “Where should we start?”

Now, Victor likes shopping.

He likes shopping for clothes.

He likes shopping for weapons.

He likes shopping in general. 

But, it's been a long time since he's been to a market like this one, and he's somewhat forgotten how dangerous it can be. 

Multiple vendors try and trick members of their little cohort into buying goods and/or services that are most definitely shady. A goblin tries to convince Yuri that coating the soles of his shoes in the contents of an unquestionable sketchy vial will give him the ability to kick down buildings. A witch attempts to rope Victor into buying three of her shiny amulets. A random dudebro has a sign posted on his table that says he’ll wrestle anybody for fifteen dollars and/or a Subway sandwich.

“I thought you said this place doesn’t allow violence,” Victor pointed out when they walked away from that particular table.

“I did,” Jade said, “Under the rules of El Callejón, he’s providing a service therefore it’s not violence, but a business transaction. As long as he’s registered, and there’s no serious injury or death, it’s allowed.”

“How do you know so much about this place?” Yuri asked, giving Dr. Bones some side-eye.

“I used to be an information broker back in the day,” Jade explained, “and these places don’t change much.”

“You never told me that,” Yuuri said, giving her a surprised look. 

“You never really asked,” Jade said, her eyes crinkling with amusement over the mask.

A vendor sitting at a plain foldout table with a list of her services waves at them to get their attention and leans excitedly towards them.

“Care to have your fortune read, babes?” she asked.

“Uh, I think we’re good,” Mila said, giving her a thumbs up, “Thanks though.”

“You sure? I think you’ll like what I have to hear,” the witch says with one of her brows quirked.

Jade is giving the witch a considering look before walking up to her table and sticking her hands in the giant front pocket of her hoodie, “How much?”

The fortune teller smiles and lowers her voice, “Since you’re an old friend, Bonesey, I’ll give you this one for free. There’s been a sketchy kid – a witch – going around causing some problems. Pouring out people’s potions, draining the power out of amulets, that sort of thing. He picked a fight with Sangria earlier, caused a power surge that nearly shut us down.” Hence the rumored magical disturbance.

“Thanks for the tip,” Jade says.

“Come back soon, babes,” the witch said, wiggling her fingers in farewell.

“Do you think Ga’mal is still around here somewhere?” Mila asked quietly.

“I can’t feel any magical abnormalities,” Victor answered, “If he were still here, I would’ve felt something by now.”

In his experience, demons have an issue controlling their vessel’s magical output – either he’d feel a ‘cold spot’ in this sea of magical individuals brought on when someone is hyper-repressing their signature, or a flare.

“He most likely left after he couldn’t find Victor,” Jade said.

“Sangria are probably looking for him,” Yuuri said, “If he picked a fight, they’ll be wanting to retaliate. They’re an old vampire gang, and they won’t be kind to a perceived upstart antagonizing them for no good reason.”

After asking around, they find out that nobody’s seen the members of Sangria since the fight.

“Great, so our leads are either dead or they left,” Yuri deadpan, “This investigation is going _so_ well.”

“It would probably go a little better without the unnecessary sass,” Mila said.

“Roll back the attitude, Yura,” Victor agreed. Yuri flipped them both off. 

“Well, I have another way we can probably get in contact with Sangria,” Jade said, scratching at her chin under the mask, “I don’t know if it’ll do much good. Unless they put a tail on Ga’mal straight out the gate.”

Victor feels a gaze on the back of his neck but keeps most of his attention on the conversation. They don’t stick around the black flea market for much longer with seventeen hours left on the clock and possible dead end for a lead. 

Ga’mal is doing a better job of hiding than Victor would’ve initially thought, and it is _incredibly_ annoying. The damn thing wanted to pick a fight and it’s hiding somewhere in this city using a college student as a skinsuit.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Victor said, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his face, “I’m just annoyed is all. We could be at home watching _My Neighbor Totoro_ and making waffles. Instead, we’re out here looking for a demon lord wearing some poor twenty-year-old as an outfit.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be out here if you had blown it up _properly_ , now would we?” Yuri said.

“Blowing up demons is a very difficult business, Yura,” Victor said primly, “I’d like to see _you_ get it right on the first try.”

“Maybe I will,” Yuri snapped, “Just watch me, baldy.”

“ _My Neighbor Totoro_ will be waiting when we’re finished,” Yuuri finally said and Victor links their fingers together with a fond little smile.

“Yeah, if Yakov doesn’t murder us first,” Mila snorts, offhandedly, then he sees her go a little pale, “Oh fuck. What if Lilia finds out?”

Good feelings gone.

Dread unabashedly steals its way into Victor’s insides, while outwardly he lets out a resigned sigh, “Honestly, Milochka, she probably already knows.” Nothing gets past Lilia Baranovskaya. _Nothing_.

“We’re so screwed,” Mila croaks, “But, at least we’ll save the day, right? Heh heh.”

They turn onto a darkening street as the street lamps begin to flicker on, casting eerie pools of cheap yellow-orange light. Victor can make out broken chain-link fences, and half-dead lawns decorated with plastic lawn ornaments. The houses are squat and there’s at least one car up on cinder blocks.

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Yuri asked lowly.

“Nope,” Jade answers, her voice still a little muffled by her mask.

Victor can feel multiple presences both behind him and to the left where he’s exposed. One of them feels similar to what he felt back in El Callejón.

“Ah, you’ve decided to say hello after all?” Victor speaks up, “Or maybe you’d like a picture?”

Their silhouettes appear at the edge of each pool of light from the old street lamps.

“I’d like to ask a couple of questions myself,” one of the shadows says, “like, what a couple of foreign Tags want with the Sangria.”

“Nothing in particular,” Victor said cheerfully, “We’re looking for the young lad that picked a fight with some of your members earlier.”

There’s a low hiss from several of the silhouettes.

“We don’t need a coupla Tags to solve our problems for us,” another voice speaks up, this one sounds younger, perhaps female, “Sangria can defend its own.”

“Believe me when I tell you that you’re outmatched here,” Jade said.

“That witch is possessed by a higher demon. You’re better off letting us handle it,” Yuuri added. The uneasy silence that follows his statement is thick.

“And why should I believe you?” the first shadow replies, “The Agency has lied before.”

Victor notices the use of ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. Perhaps this one is speaking on behalf of the gang’s leader who is undoubtedly tucked away somewhere. Either way, he’s getting quite annoyed.

“Not about this,” Mila said, “ _Never_ about this. There’s too much at stake.”

“If you don’t know where he is, fine,” Yuri snapped, “Just say so and we’ll leave. We’re not here to bother you, we just want the demon.”

“Better watch your tone, _fresa_ ,” the vampire snaps, “Tags or not, you’re on _our_ turf.”

“Raul,” implores a quiet third voice, “maybe we should at least listen. I mean, if Grim finds out-“

The silhouette that Victor mentally labels ‘Raul’ rounds on the voice of wisdom, and some light is cast on some of his profile beneath the hood, “Letting the Tags get their way won’t go over well either,” he hissed. Victor can tell he was only a teenager when he was turned, and he’s probably not that much older than he looks.

“We have _names_ you know,” Mila said loudly, “Honestly, stop wasting our time and tell us if you’ve seen the kid or not.”

“And Sangria has _rules_ ,” Raul stresses, “I’m not seeing any reason to make an exception.”

Victor sighs before glancing at his watch. Little over fifteen hours left now.

Pity that this turned out to be such a waste of time.

The street lights suddenly go out and the silhouettes disappear.  

“What the-!” Yuri starts.

One of the minions decides to play Sacrificial Penguin and run at him first, sneakers slapping loudly against the cracked asphalt and Victor slaps it away, “Shoo.”

An ominous red glow cuts through the pitch black and there’s offended shrieks and surprised snarls when Yuuri restrains several of Raul’s fellow gang members. He hears a snarl from above and an odd metallic rattle as another minion leaps off the street light. Victor sucks air into his lungs, his magic rushing to meet the influx of oxygen and he lets it loose in one continuous exhale. The gust carries the vampire up up and away, and Victor sucks at his teeth. A familiar squawk to his right makes him sigh and he turns towards the vampire that’s got hold of a squirming Yuri. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he tells them, just as the smell of ozone reaches his nose.

“Get. OFF!” Yuri growls, releasing his lightning in arcs big enough to encompass his captor.

The street lights flicker back on and Victor does a quick head count – six caught in Yuuri’s string, one down for the count thanks to Yuri’s special shock therapy and Mila’s got two of them in headlocks – one on each arm, struggling in her hideously strong grip. He frowns a little, and taps his chin wondering where the last one – a shriek, punctuated by the sound of a body hitting the asphalt _hard_ and a muted groan of pain.

 _Ah, that makes ten_ , he thinks.

“Looks like everyone’s accounted for,” he said cheerfully.

“The humans in this neighborhood sleep like the dead,” Mila marvels.

“They’re just minding their own business,” Jade said, “but even if they were being nosy, they wouldn’t notice a thing.”

Victor notices the muted glow behind her eyes from maintaining the glamour to keep them all hidden from view in case a neighbor does get inquisitive. He walks over to the vampire that had fallen out of the sky and picks him up by his hoodie. The street lights make the blood on the teenaged face look black as tar and Victor smacks him a couple times on the cleaner side of his face, eliciting a groan, “Oh good, you _are_ alive. Wouldn’t do to accidentally kill you. More trouble than it’s worth, really.”

“Please don’t hurt him!” blurts one of the vampires entangled in Yuuri’s Wards, “We have a tail on the kid, we can tell you where he is!” Victor blinks at them.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Victor says, and drops Raul like a sack of potatoes, “Well…anymore at least.” Raul lets out a pained sound. Mila lets out an annoyed sound and drops the two gang members that have gone limp in her grip to facepalm. 

“He was just following orders,” the tiny vampire continues, the orange light casting their face in odd relief.

“We’re not really interested in excuses here, kid,” Jade said, leaning down to talk to him, “I’ll let this go because we’re on a time crunch. But, you _will_ tell Grimaldo that _any_ retaliation against the Agency for this incident will be met with _extreme prejudice_.” The rest of them shift uneasily when she glares at them with her mismatched eyes.

“Yes ma’am,” the tiny vampire agrees.

“Now, how are you getting updates from your guy?” Jade asked.

“Raul has a cell phone,” another answers, “I don’t know if it _survived_ the fall but…” she gives Victor a pointed judgmental look. Victor gives her a smile before finding the old flip phone in the back pocket of Raul’s beaten jeans. It has seen better days and is clearly meant to be disposable. He doesn’t miss these things _at all_.

“The last text was timestamped for nine minutes ago,” Victor says aloud.

“That’s not right,” Raul said, gingerly sitting up with an arm around his side, before Victor can read the text aloud.

“I’m sorry?” Victor said.  

“She’s supposed to update me every five minutes,” Raul explained, “on the dot.”

Victor exchanges a grim look with the rest of his team. Mila quietly shakes her head.

“Your friend is probably dead,” Jade said, “Ga’mal most likely wasn’t happy when he discovered he had a tail.” Raul looks like he might be sick.

“Can you place a reverse tracking spell on the phone?” Mila asked.

“I _could_ ,” Victor says, “but it wouldn’t be very effective, especially if he dumped the phone with the body-“ the phone suddenly starts to ring and Raul eyes it like he’s expecting the devil himself to emerge from it like its some sort of twisted Horcrux. Victor flips it open and presses ‘answer’.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence on the other end.

“Humans and their curious little knick-knacks,” muses a young man’s voice on the other end, “Even the vampire race finds them useful. How amusing.” Raul looked incensed and his hand twitched as if to grab for the phone, but Victor starts talking instead.

“They are such innovative creatures, aren’t they?” Victor says sweetly, and the voice on the other end goes curiously silent, “Heard you’ve been looking for me. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked pleasantly.

“And here I thought I’d have to go to drastic lengths to hunt you down,” Ga’mal said, “This saves me time.”

“Are you finally taking me to dinner?” Victor gasps, “You tease! And here I thought you were such a cad.”

Mila and Yuri rolled their eyes at him and Jade looked vaguely impressed. Yuuri was quietly undoing the capture Wards he’d cast, setting each gang member free.

“You _will_ restore my body,” Ga’mal said, “otherwise, I’ll go through every single human shell in this city until you do.”

“What did you do to Rosie?” Raul demands, “Where is she? What did you _do?_ ”

“Who?” Ga’mal deadpans.

“Dinner. 8 PM sharp. Wouldn’t miss it,” Victor says and hangs up, “I’m sorry about your friend. Really.”

Raul glared at the phone in Victor’s hands, “Just do your job and kill that damn thing properly.”

Victor gives him a blank look, “Was there any indication that we _wouldn’t?_ ” he gets a Look.

“You can keep the phone,” Raul said, turning and walking towards his gang members, “the damn thing is trash anyway.”

“Well, thanks for all your…hmm,” Victor paused tapping his mouth, his English-brain going blank, “not-quite-help?” Nope. Not it. “Yuuri is there a word for the opposite of help in English?”

“Um…hurt? Or hindrance?” Yuuri suggested. Victor nodded.

“Thanks for all your hindrance,” Victor says cheerfully, “We really could’ve done without it. Follow the Code, don’t do drugs, blah blah blah.”

The vampire gang took their leave without further preamble, disappearing back into the dark. Victor looked down at the old phone with its chipped casing and ugly nineties cobalt blue paint. “Well, that worked out nicely,” he says.

“Oh sure,” Mila says flatly, “got into a spat with a baby vampire gang, broke some faces, not to mention we probably violated whole paragraphs worth of the Code.”

“Worst. Field trip. _Ever_ ,” Yuri emphasized.

“Hey, you wanted to tag along,” Mila said.

“And I blame all of you for making me question my life choices,” Yuri continued, punctuated by the sound of his stomach growling. Jade snorted a laugh.

Victor opens up the phone and deletes every contact except the one labeled ‘Rosie’ before starting to cast. He’s hoping that it works, even though the two cell phones aren’t predetermined pairs – usually, you’d create some sort of link between two objects, but obviously he has to work with what he has, using the phone number and contact name as the link between the two disposables.

The little phone finally pings and an address appears on the screen in pixelated letters.

“I’m surprised that worked,” Victor muttered and looked up at Yuuri.

“No use fighting on an empty stomach,” Jade declared, “Ga’mal isn’t going anywhere. Obviously, he’s quite infatuated with you, Agent Nikiforov.”

“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” Victor flipped his bangs.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” Mila snorted, smacking him on the arm as she walked by, “The sooner we feed the kitten, the sooner we can get him home.”

Victor lags behind Yuri and the girls, sticking close next to the professor who’s gone curiously quiet.

“You know, this mission will only be a success because of you, you know,” Victor says quietly and Yuuri looks up at him, “Don’t look so surprised. I hardly have any contacts in America. It’s only because you’re so resourceful that we’re going to permanently close this case.”

“I could’ve gotten us killed at the club,” Yuuri said, “Cao Bin isn’t exactly the forgiving type. The fact that he didn’t just sic his men on us at the start is…a miracle.”

“Obviously, he still cares for you,” Victor said, “And I don’t blame him. You’re amazing Yuuri.” Yuuri opens his mouth to (obviously) protest, “And I know there’s a lot of things you aren’t ready to talk about. But, when you’re ready to talk, I’m more than willing to listen.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says quietly.

“Stop mooning at each other and get over here,” Yuri snapped, holding open the door to some random restaurant, and glaring at the two of them. He disappears inside when Victor and Yuuri get within range of the door to go sit with Jade and Mila.

Taking a seat in the booth feels strangely like sitting down to a last meal – even though he knows that’s ridiculous. He frowns at the plastic-covered menu he’s been handed. These unexpected feelings of trepidation instead of anticipation for the upcoming fight are…odd. He can confidently say he hasn’t gotten nervous before confronting a target since he was a child –

 _Oh_. 

Oh wait. 

He glances at Yuuri who’s got his glasses on while inspecting the menu. He's had this revelation before, the one where he wants to spend more time with Yuuri, but it feels different now. After this, he wonders if Yuuri will go back to teaching or come out of retirement with the Agency and perhaps join his Unit permanently –

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone buzzing his pocket and he pauses for a moment to take it out. He blinks when he sees Yakov’s name flash across the screen, “Oh. It’s Yakov.”

“You’re not gonna actually answer it, are you?” Mila asked.

“Who do think you’re talking to?” Victor says, hitting ‘Ignore’ and putting it back in his pocket. Yakov will probably yell at him later for ghosting him, which is another problem for another time. They’ve got nearly fourteen hours left on the clock, pancakes to eat, and a demon to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the weird stopping points! 
> 
> I know I'm terrible at keeping y'all fed when it comes to updates and your patience and continued support is very much appreciated. This would've been out sooner but working in hospital = weird ass schedule from hell. The updates will probably get more irregular from here on out, just because my scheduler hates me. 
> 
> Question: what do you guys think of a sort-of sequel based around Yuri? I'm bouncing around a few ideas right now, though it probably won't be posted until I've finished at least the first two chapters. Laters! :3


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